


Water Sharing

by RenkonNairu



Category: Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alien Culture, Coup d'état, F/M, Other, Racism, Revolution, War, Xenophilia, infancide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 119,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-AU- </p>
<p>The Saiyans fear half-Saiyan half-human hybrids and decree that all half-breeds must be killed at birth. Bulma escapes with Trunks and she and Chichi hide out on Planet Namek to raise their sons together. Back on Earth, a revolution against the Saiyan overlords is brewing. They just need a leader to rally around and warriors powerful enough to take on the Saiyans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Evil King

Prince Vegeta went flying across the throne room, hit the solid stone floor hard enough to fracture its chiseled surface, and rolled several more feet before finally coming to a halt. Picking himself up off the ground and climbing to his feet, the Prince wiped a tickle of blood from his mouth and glared up at his father.

King Vegeta glared back down at his eldest son. Matching the younger man's ebony stare, glare for glare. "I would have expected an indiscretion like this from Tarble, he is weak and lacks the pride and dignity for his station. But you, my namesake, I never would have imagined."

The Prince just continued to glare. He had nothing to say. Words of defense were as pointless as they were beneath him. Nothing would sway the King's opinion. Vegeta studied the older man, face so much like his own, but many more years along, a thick but well trimmed goatee hiding his chin and upper lip, armor polished to a shine, dark cape -blue on the outside, red on the inside- falling from his shoulders in ripples of fabric, arms draped over the armrests of the Cairngrom Throne, hands gripping the ends of those armrest tightly. Almost tight enough to crack the cairngorm stone from which it had been cut. The King was either beside himself with abject rage, or else, tense with nerves.

"The mongrel must be dealt with." He continued. "As all his wretched ilk are disposed of. To think, such an abomination within my own House!"

At his sides, the Prince's hands balled into fists, his body shaking with more emotions than he could readily identify, let alone examine. Not breaking eye-contact with his father, he asked, "And if I refuse?"

Now the King stood from the Throne. "Do not test me, namesake!" He snarled. "If you deal with the mongrel right now, I might allow you to keep the woman. …Call it a compromise."

The Prince repeated. "And if I refuse?"

The King growled. "Then I shall dispose of both of them."

Bitting the inside of his cheek, the Prince considered his options. He told himself several times over the past nine months that he didn't care about the woman or her little bastard. Attachment like that -especially attachment to a lowly slave- was a weakness and he was not weak. He was a Prince! Heir to the greatest race in the galaxy. Yet… nine months ago, when the woman's scent first changed and he learned of her pregnancy, rather than getting rid of the unwanted half-breed right then and there as it slept in her womb, he instead allowed the woman to keep it and hid her away. The Prince didn't know what he was thinking. He wasn't thinking, plain and simple.

"I am willing to forgive your transgression as nothing more than the foolishness of youth if you deal with your mistake right now -as you should have done nine months ago."

Behind him, the Prince heard the tall double doors of the throne room open and close. But he didn't dare look away from his father to risk a glance at whomever had entered. His ki sense was not yet as sophisticated as Kakarot's had been, but really, who would be foolish enough, or suicidal enough to dare barge in on them when the King was in this state?

The Kings eyes shifted from his son to the newcomer. "What is it, Nappa!?"

"Sir." The larger man fidgeted under his King's scrutiny. "Its a boy."

There was a beat of silence in which the King's eyes locked back with the Prince's. A boy. A son. Had the brat been a full Saiyan of proper pedigree that would have been good news. A new Prince. But a hansaiya boy was not something to be celebrated. The hansaiya were dangerous. A threat to the monarchy, the cast system, the very Saiyan way of life. The mingling of Saiyan and human blood created an unusually powerful offspring. One would think that a race that valued power above all would welcome such a mingling, but that is a false assumption. Saiyans did not show it often, but they were a xenophobic bunch. They valued power within their own race, raising those of strength into higher casts. But non-Saiyan strength was not something to be admired, non-Saiyan power was viewed as a threat. Non-Saiyan strength had to be destroyed.

No one knew that better than the Prince.

But the woman had been so captivating. Exotically beautiful. Wildly intelligent. And fearless. Above all else, she was fearless. Fearless and stubborn. Two traits almost never found in slaves. Also bold and shameless. All the qualities Saiyan men sought in a mate. She must have been born into the wrong race. She did not belong in the human race, or in the slave cast. She was better suited to be a Queen. If things were different, she might even have been his Queen. But that could never be. She was lowly and wretched. Their offspring, a forbidden abomination.

"Well, namesake, what is your decision?" The King pressed. "Will you dispose of the mongrel yourself, or shall I?"

Suppressing a snarl, the Prince turned his back on the King, taking one step towards the doors. "I will take care of it."

Had he still been looking, he would have seen a smile of satisfaction cross the King's lips. "Nappa, go with him and witness. Make sure its done."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The larger man bowed and followed the Prince out.

With each step the Prince's mind screamed for him to think of something else. Do something else. He didn't want to care about the woman. It was a weakness. But he had grown rather attached to her, and by extension, their offspring. He would have preferred things happen differently for them. If the woman hadn't gotten with child quite so soon. If he had already been King, his father's pyre already burnt out and cold, nothing but wet ashes. He could have changed things. Maybe not made the woman his Queen, nor her child his heir, but at the very least allowed them to live. But still under his father's rule, that would never be an option. The child had to die. The woman… well, Father said he would allow her to live, but… The Prince's chest felt tight and constricted. She would never forgive him if he killed her offspring. One way or another, he would lose both of them. His father would win.

"Nappa…" The Prince ventured, grasping out for a lifeline, any lifeline. The House of Cabbage had served the House Vegeta for generations. Nappa had been his guardian and teacher growing up. Sometimes, the man was like a second father to the Prince.

"I am sorry, Your Highness." The older man offered, for whatever comfort it was worth. Which was none.

Then, the Prince got an idea. "Nappa whom do you serve?"

The older man raised one quizzical eyebrow at the Prince. "I serve the House Vegeta, Your Highness. As I always have, as I always will."

"And, is my… son not also a decedent of the House Vegeta?" He continued.

Nappa was a long time in answering. He crossed his arms over his chest as they walked, his eyes looking far ahead and unfocused as he thought. Finally, "I know what you are trying to do, Your Highness. You're not the first warrior to grow attached to an alien lover or sire a hansaiya bastard."

"That does not answer my question. Is my son, hansaiya or not, a decedent of the House Vegeta?"

Hesitantly, and with great reluctance, Nappa answered, "Yes… I suppose he would technically be a decedent of House Vegeta."

Got him! "Then, do you not also serve my son?" The Prince did not wait for him to answer. Instead he forged on, they were almost to their destination now and time was of the essence. "Will you do a service for him? One service. For the bastard of House Vegeta."

Once again, Nappa took his time in answering. Finally, "Not for your bastard, Your Highness, but for you. I will do one service against my better judgment for you."

That was good enough. It was all the Prince needed to hear.

They rounded a corner and found two guards flanking the door. They straitened when they saw the Prince and Lord Nappa approaching, both giving carefully practiced bows of submission to the former and saluting the latter. One held the door open and the two men stepped inside.

The room stank of sweat and vaguely of blood and other scents the Prince couldn't identify. There was a reason men did not traditionally sit in with women in labor and the Prince quickly decided that the near-overpowering smell was one reason.

The woman sat up in the bed. Her aqua-blue hair plastered to the sides of her head with sweat, her face tight with nerves and exhaustion, her limbs sagging with fatigue. But in her arms… the Prince's breath caught in his chest. In her arms was a small bundled up blanket, a fluffy lavender tail poking through to wrap around her wrist. Their child. His son.

Behind them, the guard closed the door, giving the Prince all the privacy he needed to execute his hastily conceived and thrown together plan. Extending a hand, he demanded, "Give him to me, Woman."

She clutched the bundle closer to her breast, summer-sky eyes glaring daggers at him, promising to fight tooth and nail to her own death before she handed her child over to be killed and discarded. She knew, just as well as he did, what the fate of hansaiya children were.

"Do not make me ask again." Vegeta warned. He wanted to promise her that the boy would be fine. But that was both a promise he could not make, and also words he could not say allowed, lest the guards outside might be eavesdropping and overhear. For his plan to work, everyone had to believe that he was, indeed, going to fulfill his father's command. Perhaps the woman sensed his intensions, or could read his silent pleading in his onyx eyes. She always did have an uncanny ability to decipher his moods better than he himself could.

Reluctantly, she passed the bundle to him. "If you hurt him, Vegeta, I will never forgive you!"

"I wouldn't expect you to." He informed her honestly.

The child was so light in his arms. Light and small. He knew babies were supposed to be small, he wasn't an idiot. But the Prince had never really seen a newborn up close before, never mind actually holding one. Was he supposed to be this small? Small and fragile. So light in his arms. The slightest wrong move could break him in half a dozen ways that would end his life. But now holding him, the Prince was sure that he couldn't do it. He hadn't planned to anyway. But now that he held his son in his arms, he knew that it wasn't a choice anymore, he simply could not.

Bending his head down, the Prince inhaled deeply. Memorizing his son's scent.

"Your Highness…?" Nappa questioned.

Right. They hadn't much time. This must be done quickly and carefully.

Reaching a hand inside the swaddling, the Prince found the base of the child's tail. Giving it a twist and one solid yank, the limb snapped off and the boy started crying. Loud, screeching wails. He definitely had his mother's lungs on him. Blood flowed from the now open wound, staining the blanket. Good. The blood was good. The scent of blood would help convince his father that it was done. The scent of blood… and the boy's tail.

Without their tails, the hansaiya could pass for perfectly ordinary humans. It was the Prince's hope that, that would be just as true for his son as it had been for Kakarot's brat.

Using his ki to caurterize the wound before the boy could bleed out completely, the Prince passed the bundle to Nappa. "Take him out of the Palace." He commanded. "Wait for me by the servants' gate off the south wall. No one goes through there anymore. I'll bring the woman when it's safe. This is the one service against your judgment that you can do for me, Nappa."

The older man looked at the bloody bundle of blanket the Prince held out to him. "No one will believe its dead when they can clearly hear it screaming."

The Prince looked pleadingly back to the woman, thrusting the bundle towards her. "Make him quiet."

She gathered her son in her arms again, unwrapping the blanket which the Prince had just ruined and re-swaddling him in it. She held him against her chest, rocking him back and forth while she cooed softly. After this went on for several moments and the boy showed no intention of quieting down, she glared up at her lover. "You just ripped one of his limbs off! How am I supposed to calm him down from that?"

"If you wish him to live, you will find a way." The Prince told her flatly.

The woman doubled her efforts to comfort the boy. The Prince cast furtive glanced at the door as the brat's wails continued. If this continued much longer it would become apparent to those guarding the door outside that the hansaiya bastard was not being disposed of as he should be.

"Damn it, Woman!"

At his rough shout, the boy's sobs paused just long enough for him to blink summer-sky eyes, the same shade as his mother's. He couldn't turn his head. Not this young. But it was clear that he was responding to his father's voice. The Prince wasn't quite sure of his opinion of that. The realization that his son already knew him at such a young age did something to his chest. Made it swell with something that felt similar to pride, but also tighten with something that felt suspiciously like a relative to fear. But he had neither the time, nor the inclination to examine these feelings now. Other things needed doing and time was of the essence.

"Give him to Nappa." The Prince commanded, now that the boy was quiet.

The woman glared at him, suspicion back in her summer-sky eyes. But after a hesitation that lasted long then the Prince felt it should, she eventually passed her child off to the old warrior.

"Go now." The Prince ordered. "If anyone stops you, say that you are making sure his body is disposed of properly."

"Your Highness, you are making a big mistake." The older man argued.

"You said you would do this for me, Nappa." He remind him. "Do this one thing for me and… and I will gift you with whatever payment you wish of me."

Nappa looked from his Prince to the human woman sitting on the bed. He felt the tiny bundle in his hands. He was just a tiny baby. Newborn. Harmless, one would think. But he was hansaiya. A half-Saiyan, half-human mongrel. Hybrid. That meant he was dangerous. Perhaps not now, not yet. But if allowed to live… All hansaiya were dangerous if allowed to live. But… but this hansaiya was decedent of House Vegeta, which Nappa swore to serve. Torn between conflicting loyalties, the old warrior only nodded.

"Nothing good can come from this." He warned. "But for you, Your Highness, I will keep him safe until your insane plan is through. …And I shall call in my payment at a time of my choosing."

"Fine. Now go!" Snapped the Prince.

Nappa left, trying to hold the bastard in a way that didn't obviously show that it was alive.

The Prince turned back to his woman. "Your whelp's survival depends on your acting, Woman. Make it convincing."

"What?" She blinked at him.

"I just killed your brat!" He clarified.

In truth, the Prince didn't know how convincing her acting might be. They had never really dabbled in role-play, it not being something either of them subscribed to. He was expecting her to give a wail of anguish and cry how cruel he was. It was just a child. How could he. Etc. He was not expecting her to throw herself out of the bed and attack him.

"You son of a fuck!" She screeched, launching herself at him, hands and fingernails outstretched.

So surprised was he, that the Prince didn't even have time to register that he was being attacked before two of her nails gashed his cheek. His ki instantly snapped up, forming a skin-tight shield around himself, reenforcing his skin, making him invulnerable. Tiny drops of blood formed in the scratches she managed to make in his cheek before his defenses went up and the Prince had to suppress the small smirk of pride that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Yes. That was his woman. His feisty, blue-haired, razor-witted, woman.

"He was your son too!" She continued, pounding her fists on the polished breastplate of his armor. "How could you! How could you! I hate you, Vegeta!"

The two guards stationed outside the room peaked inside.

The Prince schooled his features into an impassive mask. Not giving anything away. The woman sank to her knees, crumpling to the floor in sobs. Her words becoming incomprehensible. It was quite the convincing show. In fact, the Prince began to wonder if she didn't actually think that he -or perhaps Nappa- had actually killed the boy. But then, he reminded himself, she had been in the room the whole time, watching their every move like a hawk, listening to their every word, scrutinizing them with those sharp summer-sky eyes that missed little and hid a keen intelligence far beyond her station.

She sat on the floor, shaking now. Hugging herself. Rocking back an forth as if unsure what to do with herself.

The two guards slowly backed out of the room, neither ever having seen a mother in grief before, nor knowing what to do with one. They left the Prince to deal with his distraught slave-girl. She was the Prince's problem, after all.

Once the door was closed behind them, she looked up at the Prince, those beautiful summer-sky eyes piercing. "Can you trust Nappa?" She asked. "Can you promise me my baby will be safe?"

"For now." He assured her, grabbing one of her slender arms and lifting her back to her feet. He helped her back into the bed. She had just squeezed a small person out of her body and then gave a fantastic, if a little showy, performance. She was well past exhausted and she looked it.

The Prince picked up the lavender tail from where he'd dropped it during her well played tantrum. "I have to take this back to my father as proof. When its safe, I'll come back for you and together we'll leave. My brother has an estate on planet Gyu. We can go there."

"You're coming with us?"

The Prince looked away, averting his eyes. That tightness in his chest was back. Feelings he didn't understand and had no desire to examine. But he did know that he wanted his woman and his bastard to be safe. The best way to assure that was to run away with them. He would be leaving his title, his crown, and his family's dynasty behind. But… he wasn't sure what. He wanted to? He had to? Neither seemed to fit. He didn't want to leave the comfort and power he'd grown accustom to as Crown Prince. He didn't have to guard and protect his hansaiya abomination of an offspring. And yet… that was the course that seemed… right.

Damn it all! This must be Kakarot's influence. That damn Third Class defector! Was this how he felt when he smashed his pod, cut off his tail and chose to live as an Earthling? All wound-up and knotted inside. Damn him! The Prince hoped he was writhing in agony in Hell right now. He deserved it. This was all his fault to begin with anyway. His son had been the first hansaiya. The one that started it all and showed them just how dangerous the mingling of human and Saiyan blood could be.

"I have to return to my father now." He did not answer her question. He still wasn't sure of the answer himself. But… "I'll be back for you when it's safe. Rest until then. You will need whatever pathetic strength you have."

For a moment it looked like he was about to say more. He paused there, at the door, their son's bloody lavender tail dangling limply from his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but no more words came out. Finally, he turned to leave. Wrenching the door open and putting the appearance of an angry storm into his step. The woman was obliging enough to offer another grief-stricken wail of anguish as the door was open and shut. A little extra flair to convince all that might fancy themselves witnesses that the Prince had actually disposed of the hansaiya abomination as he was supposed to.

Back in the throne room, standing before his father, the Prince was at a bit of a loss as to what should happen next. He felt like flinging his son's tail in the old man's face. Smacking him in the nose with the bloody appendage. But that would earn him nothing. But kneeling and presenting the tail as his proof, almost as a trophy felt worse. It made the Prince a little sick. So, he just stood there, arms at his sides, tail hanging in his hand. A few drops of blood still trickled from its end and were the only sound in the wide stone chamber.

Then, "So. You actually went threw with it."

The Prince looked up at his father, hatred clear and fierce in his obsidian eyes. "I have taken care of it."

It was not a lie. He just hadn't taken care of his son in the way his father wanted.

"Excellent, namesake, you have restored your honor and that of our House." The King stood, stepping down from the Cairngrom Throne. He clapped the Prince on the shoulder. "Now lets put this whole mess behind us. We'll call it an indiscretion of youth. Everyone makes mistakes when they're young. But you have proven yourself a responsible man by taking the correct action. You'll make a good King yourself one day." His eyes fell to the tail on the Prince hand. "Give me that."

The Prince looked down at his son's tail in his hand, running a thumb through the lavender fur. It was much softer than the fur of a pure-blood Saiyan. Fine and soft and purple. Wordlessly, and reluctantly, he extended the limb to his father.

"An interesting color." The King remarked. "Very distinctive. Even if you had succeeded in hiding the woman until she came to term, you would not have been able to hide the bastard. Its coloring would have made his heritage obvious."

The Prince remained tactfully silent.

"Oh, stop brooding!" The King slapped him on the back. "I have a surprise for you. I said you can keep the woman if you did away with the brat and you have. So, your slave can stay. But you may not want her after you see what I have for you." Turning his head, he called over his shoulder, "Come out, my dear."

From a side-door of the throne room entered a woman. Saiyan, obviously. Around the Prince's own age. Long ebony hair and obsidian eyes as all Saiyans had. A petite body with a trim waist. She wore her armor with a low collar, showing off more cleavage than would have been practical in a fight. She smiled a ruby-lipped smile when she joined them and went to one knee, bowing before her King and Prince.

"Namesake, this is the Lady Soy of House Legume." The King introduced her. "She is an Elite warrior, First Class. She would make a much more fitting mate for you. A much more appropriate vessel for continuing the Vegeta Dynasty, don't you agree?"

The Prince's stomach did knots. His eyes flicked from the woman kneeling at his feet to the lavender tail in his father's hand. He felt bile rise in his throat and found himself fighting the urge to spit in his father's eye. Instead, he said, "Yes, Father, you're right. I have been foolish. But I think my time bedding slaves is done. I'm over that phase."

"Glad to hear it!" The King smiled, and it looked like he was actually pleased with his son. Not just pleased, but actually proud of him. That was impossible of course, that meant that the man actually cared about his son, which the Prince seriously doubted. After all, Tarble was his son too, and the King still banished him for no better reason than he did not adhere to their warrior codes. "I'll leave you and the Lady Soy to get better acquainted with one another."

It was all the Prince could manage to crock out a hoarse, "Thank you, Father."

Soy rose to her feet, wrapping both hands around the Prince's arm, she pressed herself against his side, his shoulder brushing the soft flesh of her great that climbed up out of her low-cut armor. "Shall we take a turn about the Square, Your Highness?" She asked. "Or would you prefer a spar?"

The idea of beating the coy, playful smile off those red lips did sound appealing. The Prince liked the idea of that pretty face bruised and bloody. But he didn't know if he might need all of his energy for later. For when he took the woman and the boy and ran. For now it was best to conserve his strength. So, he replied, "Lets walk the Square. I haven't been down there since the execution."

'The execution' was, of course, referring to the execution of the Third Class defector Kakarot. The Prince still wasn't clear on all the details. But as he understood it, the story went like this. Kakarot was the low-born son of the Seer. His power level was to low to have allowed him to remain on Vegeta-sei to train without first proving himself, so he was sent on an infant mission. That was where the story became confusing, with conflicting accounts. From what the Prince was able to piece together from the short time he spent with him, Kakarot had met an old man on that far off and distant planet in the backwaters of the galaxy. An old master.

In some versions of the story, there were two old me. One as father figure, the other as a teacher. Whether they really were two or one in the same didn't matter. The point was that by the time Kakarot grew into his manhood, he had been indoctrinated into their philosophy of fighting only in the protection of home and country -or whatever. So that when another Saiyan arrived on the planet to do a routine follow-up on the infant mission, Kakarot's own people and culture became the enemy. He fought off the warrior sent to collect him and finish the job if he'd failed. After the battle was fought and won, Kakarot came to a decision. He smashed his original pod and the pod of the other warrior and cut off his tail, quite literally severing the last ties to his heritage, and chose to live as an Earthling.

It was Kakarot that first brought Earth, and by extension the human race, to the Saiyan's attention. It was Kakarot's son that was the first hansaiya and showed the rest of them how dangerous breeding with other races could be.

For his crimes, for failing his infant mission, killing the warrior sent to retrieve him, defecting to an alien planet, and creating an abomination with an alien woman, Kakarot was executed.

The Prince paused in front of the posts in the middle of the Square. Salaad was the capitol city of Vegeta-sei and in the center of the city, just outside the palace walls was the city's Square. A large open area with only one single structure in its center. Two tall stone posts that stood upon a raised dais. It was between these posts that Kakarot had been strung. His arms puled tight until they popped out of their sockets. His scream of pain had little effect on the crowd that day. They were all warriors that had proven themselves in their own purges. Wails of excruciating anguish were nothing new for them. Neither were they effected by his final words before the death-stroke fell.

"I am Son Goku. I am an Earthling!"

But the Prince was affected. He didn't know why. He had only known of the lowly Third Class defector for a short time, and known him personally even shorter. But his words stuck in his mind. No… not his words, it was his attitude. He didn't whine, or plead, or beg for mercy. Most defectors deserted because they were cowardly. They didn't want to fight because they feared death, or had no stomach for carnage. But that wasn't Kakarot's reason. It was something else, something indistinct and ephemeral. The Prince didn't have a word for it. But on that day, Kakarot met his death with honor and dignity -or, at least, as much honor and dignity as one condemned to execution can have- and defiance. Most of all defiance.

"I am Son Goku. I am an Earthling!"

That was also the day the Seer disappeared.

Bardock, the father of both Kakarot and the other warrior who'd been sent to follow up on his infant mission, Raditz. He lost both his sons to the scandal. Some wondered why he hadn't tried to prevent it. He was the Seer, after all. Did his powers not predict it? Did he not try to stop any of it? Or was his clairvoyance nothing more than exaggerated cold-reading. Smoke and mirrors. Was he just a fraud?

The Prince didn't know.

But that was the last day anyone ever saw the Seer. That night, was also the night Kakarot's son and the human woman he took for a mate escaped. It was generally decided that the Seer must have orchestrated their flight. No other explanation made sense. The Prince has his suspicions that his own woman might have had a hand in it as well. Bardock not being known for his subtlety, must have had some help of his own. But the Prince had no proof of that. Just his own gut feeling and hunches.

It was not that long ago. The execution and the escape. Just a few short weeks… Kakarot's hansaiya brat was still missing and unaccounted for.

They had probably gone to ground somewhere. Not back to Earth. The Saiyans kept a carful watch over it. Not yet purging it, having found the humans to be useful as slaves, the planet was not purged. The people were used to the best of their abilities and limited strength. Those with intelligence were made to develop better technology fro their Saiyan master. Faster ships, more efficient healing tanks, stronger armor, etc. Those without much brains were put to work on their own planet, farming resources. Mining ores, iron, steel, and copper were always needed. Cutting stone. Growing food. Above all else, food. The Saiyan metabolism demanded a high caloric intake. Occasionally, after a purge whole planets were terraformed and converted into farming worlds to feed their armies. Earth didn't need to be terraformed. Earth was almost as perfect for Saiyans as Vegeta-sei.

So, Kakarot's woman and brat would not go back there. Could not go back there.

Another planet then. One sympathetic to their plight. Or perhaps one of the Saiyan's enemies… the Ice-jin perhaps? No. The the Seer -if in fact he did orchestrate their escape- would not risk his grandson and only living relative there. Somewhere else. The galaxy was a large place. Plenty of planets, habitable moons, asteroids and space stations to hide on.

"Something troubling, Your Highness?" Soy asked by his side. "You seem preoccupied."

"No. Nothing." The Prince lied. "I think I've had enough mingling with the commoners for one day. Lets return to the Palace."

…

Oca, Vegeta-sei's large red giant sun had long since set over the horizon and Romanesco, the blue dwarf was just finally sinking below the horizon. It colored the sky in off shades of red and purple, making the Prince think of his son's bloody tail and he hoped the image was not prophetic. He was not usually given to superstition or the reading of omens. But he was also nervous and edgy. That tight feeling in his chest making it hard to breath.

As agreed, he collected the woman the moment he decided it was safe enough to flee and met Nappa at the agreed upon location.

The woman could not get her baby back in her own arms fast enough. Rushing up to Nappa, forgetting her earlier suspicions about the older man from earlier today. Over his shoulder, the Prince carried a bag. He wasn't quite sure what they might need. He'd never exactly deserted before. He knew that he didn't really need much of anything. Just some water and pro tine bars for the ride in the pod, once he got to his location, he would be able to find anything else he might need on whatever planet he chose to go to. But the woman was not him. The woman was human and weak and they would be traveling with a child. So he threw together a few things. Mostly guessing on almost everything. He knew less about children then he knew about any other subject he was ignorant of.

Turning to Nappa, the Prince shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other and asked, "What do you want for your payment?"

The older man looked the Prince up and down, noting the bag over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to the woman and child behind him, then back to the Prince. "You're not leaving with them, are you?"

The woman asked him the same question. He didn't answer her. He didn't know his answer then. But at some point in the day, the question became irrelevant. It didn't matter what he chose. The Prince found that he had no choice at all. "Yes."

"Don't." Nappa said. One flat syllable. He was speaking above his station and they both knew it. But Nappa did not apologize and the Prince did not call him out on it.

"I have no reason to stay."

"My payment." Nappa reminded him. "You said you would give me whatever I wanted as payment for helping you save the life of your bastard. For payment, I choose you, Prince Vegeta. I want you to stay here. Become the King I trained you to be. Buy your bastard's life with your service to your race and your crown. I trained you since your boyhood and I did it so you could be King. If you leave, then all my work and devotion will have been meaningless. So, as my payment, I want you to stay and collect your birthright."

All there of them remained silent for one… two… three beats. The silence filled only by the sound of the child cooing in the woman's arms.

The Prince looked at her. Aqua hair shining in the raiding light of Romanesco, eyes studying him. The child in her arms gurgled and cooed, content to finally be back with his mother. If he didn't go with them, who would ensure their safety? But… if he did go with them, then his father would hunt them until the end of their days…

A few moments ago, the Prince decided he had no choice at all. But now, he was finding that the choice was even harder than before.

He turned his back on Nappa. Crossing the small space between them, he asked the woman, "What will you name him?"

"I don't know…" She answered honestly. "I haven't had the chance to think that far."

"Don't…" He paused, his throat suddenly tight. "Don't name him 'Vegeta', its an evil name. In fact, don't give him a Saiyan name at all. Without his tail, and with that coloring he could pass for any number of races in the galaxy. So long as know one knows he's Saiyan, he should be safe."

"You're not coming with us after all." She translated his own feeling or him, far better than he ever could himself.

There was a beat of silence between them in which all they did was stare into each other's eyes. Summer-sky to infinite ebony.

Finally, the Prince shrugged the bag off his shoulder and draped it over the woman. He didn't know if anything he put in there would even be useful to her or if it was just dead weight. She would know. If it served a purpose, she would keep it. If it was useless, she would dump it and not look back. She could be coldly pragmatic when she needed to be. Another trait of hers that he found so attractive. She would have made a fantastic Queen.

"Go to planet Gyu." He said. "My bother lives there."

She shook her head. "I won't trust any Saiyan."

"You can trust Tarble."

She just shook her head again. "I know where to go."

That right there was all the confirmation he needed that she did, indeed, help in the escape of Kakarot's woman and brat. She helped them get out and she knew where they had gone. She would go to them. That was fine. Kakarot's boy was old enough and skilled enough to protect them. It wasn't the Prince's first choice, but it would do. He nodded, ceding to her.

He wrapped his arms around her. The Prince wasn't really one for displays of affection in general, and especially not displays that could be witnessed. But this might be the last time he ever saw her, so he pretended Nappa wasn't there and hugged her. Nuzzling her shoulder and neck with his nose, shifting the material of her shirt to expose the skin there. "Listen." He whispered in her ear. "Whatever you're told, whatever you hear… you are my mate. Do you understand? I will take no other woman but you. You are my true mate."

"Oka-!?" She was cut off abruptly when he sank his teeth into her shoulder, treeing the flesh and leaving a bloody ungle shaped bite mark that would heal with a scar. "Vegeta, what…?"

The Prince pulled back, licking her blood from his lips.

"Your Highness!" Nappa exclaimed.

"You are the one, Bulma." He repeated. "It will always only be you. Take our son and go."

Carrying the baby on one arm, her other and covering her bleeding shoulder, the runaway bag thrown over the other shoulder, she paused only long enough to meet his eyes one last time. Then she ran.

The Prince waited until he couldn't see her aqua head anymore. Then he turned back to Nappa and they both went inside.


	2. The Pure Hero

_Some years later…_

Fluffy white clouds drifted lazily through the pale green skies. The planet had three suns and no moon, so it was always day, on Namek, but this stretch of day was particularly fine. With the exception of the few fluffy clouds high up, it was a clear day, with light breezes and a comfortable summer heat. A perfect day for swimming naked under the suns. Or fishing. Or catching fish while swimming. Or causing tidal waves or floods, while trying to catch a fish, while swimming.

"You three are crazy!" Dende shouted to them from his bit of high ground on the bank.

The waters of Namek were wide and deep, giving rise to all manner of large and dangerous aquatic life. Gohan barely heard his friend and water-brother's remark over the spray of the sea and the roar of the whale-sized fish he was grappling with. Up from the deep, the kids appeared and latched onto the fish's tail as it flailed and writhed, trying desperately to shake its three hansaiya attackers off itself.

"I am so gonna enjoy eating you tonight, stupid fish!" Trunks snarled, his blue eyes flashing predatorily.

He and Goten locked arms around the fish's thick tail and lifted the beast out of the water, into the air. Unfortunately for Gohan, this placed the fish in a very convenient biting position and in its desperation to do away with its attackers, the whale-fish closed its mouth around him. Gohan was swallowed up in one big gulp.

"Oniichan!" Goten let go of the fish instantly.

"Oi, Chibi!" Trunks shouted, but it was to late. The fish was already falling back into the water and swimming away from them.

From the bank, Dende watched in horror as the fish swallowed up his water-brother and began swimming away, far out and into the deep. The young Namek sorcerer took to the air, joining the boys as they tried to follow the fish by air.

"He ate my oniichan!" Goten cried into Dende's chest as they flew.

"T'ch. You act like he wasn't our brother too." Trunks scoffed. "We all share water, Chibi. Besides, Gohan-oniisan is stronger than that stupid fish!"

Dende was inclined to agree with the lavender haired hansaiya. Of all his water-brothers Gohan was the strongest. It would take a lot more than being swallowed by a fish to end his life. A lot more. Like being swallowed by a fish, being crushed under the pressures of the deep waters, and finally drowning. That could end his life. Definitely. Dende did not share any of these thoughts with the boy's however. Goten was distraught enough as it was, and Trunks… well, Trunks had this idea in his head that Gohan was invincible and wouldn't listen to anybody who said anything otherwise. He could be rather stubborn, just like his mother.

They followed the shadow of the fish under the water, watching it dive deeper and wondering how they were going to help Gohan when, suddenly, the fish began to rise again. Climbing to the surface fast!

"Move!" Dende shoved Trunks out of the way, pulling Goten with him in the opposite direction just in time to avoid getting smacked by the fish's flailing antennae as it's head burst through the surface.

It thrashed in the water. Diving back down, coming back up again. This went on for some time. Twisting and wriggling its body as if trying to work something difficult and painful out of its system. Then they saw it, from out of its abdomen. It wasn't Gohan, not at first. It looked… it looked almost like the fish's own bones slowly squeezing their way out of its end, just below the tail. First just a few white round vertebra. Then what was obviously a rib. Then Gohan! Then the fish was dead, floating on the water, unmoving. Gohan let go of the fish bones and floated up in the air to meet his water-brothers.

"Wheoo. Not the way I wanted to come out. But it was the path of least resistance." He commented.

"You made him poop out his own backbone!" Goten laughed happily. He rushed forward and hugged the older boy.

Gohan patted his little brother on the head. "Yeah, I guess I kinda did, huh."

"I told you Gohan-oniisan was to strong to be beaten by any stupid fish." Trunks smiled smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin, trying to look tough and mature.

Then Dende noticed, "You're hurt."

Bright red blood trickled from a cut on Gohan's shoulder. "Its just a scratch. It'll be fine in a few-"

Dende placed his hands over the wound. He studied the healing and magical arts almost since the day he hatched and while he had difficulty with the humans' and hansaiya's physiology when they first arrived on Namek so many years ago, he had grown accustom to healing them by now. They certainly injured themselves enough to give him countless opportunities to practice!

"-days. Thank you." Gohan nodded. Then, turning to Trunks and Goten he asked, "Now, who wants to help me carry it home!?"

"I will!" Both boys choired and darted down to the water, each grabbing a fin and waiting for Gohan to join them. It was far to much for the two of them to carry all the way home by themselves. Gohan would still be doing most of the heavy lifting. But it would still be a good workout for them. If he was lucky, they might even be tired enough by the time they got home to not give Mom or Bulma-san a hassle when nap time rolled around.

"Gohan?" Dende asked, a tad hesitantly. "After you've had your dinner, would you… like to share water with me?"

The hansaiya hovered in the air for a moment, regarding his water-brother and wondering why he asked it in such an odd way. "Of course we'll share water! Do you wanna come over and share water with us over dinner? Mom and Bulma-san would be happy to have you."

The Namekian sorcerer shook his head. "Thank you. I would like to share water with them again too. But, this time, I want it just to be you and me. I… have something to ask you."

"Oh." Gohan blinked, still not quit understanding. But agreed all the same. "Sure thing then. I'll see you after dinner."

…

Sharing water meant far more than just drinking together.

Water was the element that brought life. For the Namekians it was all they needed to sustain themselves. Unlike humans or Saiyans, they did not need to eat food so long as they drank plenty of water. In the Namekian language, the word for family literally translated to 'those who drink from the same cup'. To share water with someone was to accept them into your family. Whether they were your brother by blood or by choice, if you shared water from the same cup, you were brothers by water. The bond of water-brothers was held sacred.

Gohan and Dende had been water-brothers for some years now. Almost as long as the hansaiya had been living on Namek. They shared water long before the rest of Dende's village accepted Chichi -and later Bulma- into their clan. At the time, Gohan hadn't fully understood its significance. He thought it was just an alien best friends ceremony, like spitting in each others hands or something. But as he grew older, immersed in the Namekian culture, he came to realize just what he'd agreed to when Dende offered him that cup of water all those years ago, and he did not regret it for one second. In fact, he was proud and happy to have Dende for a water-brother. They were best friends, after all. More than best friends, brothers, family.

So, it was with a smile on his face and a vase of water in his hands that he poked his head through the open door of Dende's house. Namekian houses didn't have doors, just open doorways. Since villages tended to be all one clan, and everyone within a clan shared water, there was no need for barriers. They were all brothers here.

Dende was inside, leaning back in a chair, his feet propped up on a table, reading a book. One of his ancient and archaic magical tombs. Eight years Gohan lived on Namek and he learned to speak the language almost immediately, reading it came a bit slower, but he finally mastered that too. But the language and characters in Dende's books were still far beyond his skill. Dende's place in the book was marked with a ribbon -a bright red one Gohan recognized as one Bulma-san had given him as a gift last Life Day- the book was closed, its old and dry pages making a loud crackling sound, and set carefully to the side. He stood and smiled at Gohan.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Dende asked.

"I thought you wanted to share water." He replied, holding up the vase.

"I do." Dende nodded. "I want to share water and talk. But, away from prying ears."

"Oh, okay." Gohan shrugged.

When Dende said 'walk' Gohan soon learned that what he really meant was 'fly'. Fly very, very far away, apparently. Jeez, was he planning on taking him all the way to the Great Elder's tower? Away from prying ears indeed. Well, he'd certainly insured that no one would overhear them out here.

Dende touched down on top of a flat mesa topped with soft blue grass. Gohan landed next to him and set the vase of water down to stretch, enjoying the warm sunlight. "So, what'd you wanna talk about?"

"Lets share water first."

"Okay…" Gohan sat down in the grass and pulled the stopper out of the vase. The stopper doubled as a drinking tumbler and he filled the cup half full before passing it to Dende whom sat on the grass facing him.

The Namekian sorcerer sipped the water then turned the cup seven times in his hand before passing it back to Gohan. Gohan likewise sipped from the cup, turned it in his hands, then passed it back to Dende. They continued until the cup was empty. This was a much more formal water sharing than they've been doing lately. Usually when they shared water it was just gulping the water down and passing the cup around, none of the slow sipping or cup turning. The fact that Dende was making a mini-ceremony of this meant that whatever he wanted to discuss was important. For the first time since Dende mentioned wanting to talk, Gohan began to feel nervous.

"Gohan, how long have we known each other?" He asked, as he reached for the vase to refill the cup.

"Hm…" The hansaiya paused, doing some calculations in his head. He was no where near as good at math as Bulma-san, but his mother made sure he was educated, even out here in the middle of nowhere. Bulma-san schooled him in math, science, physics, astronomy, and so forth, while the other subjects were learned alongside the Namekian children, taught by the Namekian masters. Finally, after a prolonged pause, he said, "Earth will have passed around its sun eight times by now. So, by my count of time, its been eight years. By Namek's count it would have been a little over two cycles."

"Mm." Dende nodded, passing him the newly filled water cup.

Dende wanted to make this a ceremony, so Gohan sipped it slowly, then turned the cup in his hands seven time. One for each of the seven Namekian Virtues, or perhaps it was one for every one of the Dragon Balls, or one for each of the Seven Clans.

"I remember when you and your mother first came here." He said, looking far off and into the distance with memory.

Gohan looked at his reflection in the water. He was happy here on Namek, he would not trade this life for anything in the galaxy. But the story that brought him here was not a pleasant one. He would prefer not to remember it.

"Your grandfather was with you back then." Continued Dende. "I remember I was so worried when he left. I thought he might have taken you with him."

Gohan shook his head. "This peaceful life didn't suit Bardock. He stayed only long enough to make sure my Mom and I were safe and that Goten was delivered without any problems. I don't think he liked it here from the first moment we arrived."

"I remember he never shared water with anyone. Not even you or your mother."

"He never understood water sharing." Gohan agreed. "Did you bring me out here to talk about sad things?"

"No." He shook his head. "Sorry, I started badly. I'm a bit nervous."

"About what?" Gohan held the cup out to Dende. "We're sharing water, there's no need to feel nervous. Say whatever you want."

He accepted the cup, once again sipping it slowly. This time, when he turned it in his hands it was more than seven. He wasn't preforming a water ceremony anymore, he was just nervous and doing something with his hands. "The day your grandfather left, I remember flying to your house in a panic because I was afraid he might have taken you with him. I'm glad you stayed. I think, and I know this sounds selfish, but I can't think of any better way to phrase it, but… I want you to stay here forever."

"Of course I'll stay here." Gohan assured him. "Namek is the best home I've ever known."

"That's not what I meant." Dende reached into his robes and withdrew two bands woven from yharba stalks. Yharba was a type of tall grass that grew off the sides of tall mountains. It was a strong material, often used for weaving rope. The stalks of yharba grass were long and thin and looked very fragile. They would bend at the slightest breeze, but they didn't break. Not even the most violent of Namek's storms could break a stalk of yharba grass. A special knife had to be used when harvesting it, nothing else could sever it. It was for this reason that yharba was also used in making Partner Ties -the Namekian equivalent to wedding bands. "I made these. I, uh, I know we're still really young, by both our races standards. But, I'm sure of how I feel. Gohan, I want you to be my life partner."

"Uh…"

He knew what was coming the moment he saw the yharba bracelets -the Partner Ties. He just didn't know what to say.

It wasn't like being life partners would make any demands on Gohan that he wasn't able to fulfill. Namekians were not like Saiyans or humans. Culturally speaking, being life partners was comparable to marriage on Earth. Life partners lived together in the same house, shared the domestic chores of living, and if one were to lay an egg, both partners would share in the raising of the child. So, looking from the outside, it was very much like the idea of marriage. But it was not like marriage in the sense that partners shared physical intercourse. Namekians reproduced asexually and had no organs for physical coupling. So, the only difference becoming life partners would make in their lives would be that Gohan would move in with Dende. Any children they might have down the line would come from Dende. They would still remain as close as they were. Gohan would still share water with his mother, Bulma-san and the boys… The only real thing that would change would just be where he hung his dogi.

Gohan almost found himself agreeing. Being Dende's life partner seemed so simple and right, and fit in so perfectly with his life here thus far. It was like the natural progression of things.

But something stopped him.

It was simple and base. Something Dende wouldn't understand and Gohan was loath to explain to him. Gohan was a man. He may be the unholy offspring of a forbidden union of two different species, but both of those races shared one thing in common: they were divided into male and female. That was something Dende might understand academically, but he could never really understand it fully. Not in a practical, real world, sense. Gohan was a male, and deep down, he wanted a female.

Agreeing to be life partners with Dende was fine for right now. It was all well and good. It fit with their current life. It was part of the natural progression of things. There were no females on the planet for Gohan. It might as well be a non-issue. Why not go ahead and become life partners. But… he and his mother, and later Bulma-san and Trunks, had come to this planet seeking asylum from the Saiyan's infanticide. It was perfectly reasonable that others might try the same. What if at some point down the line, an eligible female of an acceptable age showed up? What then? Would he fight whatever male-instincts this hypothetical female might stir in him and remain loyal to Dende? Or, would he give into his base instincts and forsake their bond? Break the unbreakable yharba band off his wrist and leave Dende to pick up the pieces?

Gohan didn't know. And because he didn't know, he couldn't agree to be life partners.

"I'm sorry." He finally said. Taking Dende's hand in his, he curled the Namekian sorcerer's fingers back around the twin bracelets. "I will always share water with you, Dende. You are my brother. But I can't be your life partner."

"Oh." His eyes fell. The fist holding the Partner Ties dropping to his side. "I see."

"Dende, its nothing against you." Gohan clarified. "Its me. I'm the problem. I can't… I'm not like you. I don't know yet if I can commit to something like that. I've never been tested. If I don't know, then I can't promise. You understand, right?"

"I understand." Academically, Gohan was sure that was true. From a purely cold and logical view point, Dende understood that Gohan was intrinsically different from him. That he didn't react to certain things in the same way that a Namekian might, and that there were certain situations that he has never experienced before or been tested in simply because the variables necessary to create those situations didn't exist on Namek. From a scholarly view, Dende knew all that to be true. But Dende was also a being of feelings and emotion, and from an emotional stand point, the rejection still hurt. No amount of logical reasoning and rationalization made rejection hurt less. "We should probably go. Your mother and Bulma-san might need your help when the younger ones wake up."

It was a hollow excuse and they both knew it.

"Okay." Gohan replied and replaced the drinking tumbler stopper on his water vase. "Will we share water together again soon?"

"I donno." Dende answered. "I have a lot of studying to do. Ya know, great sages don't make themselves."

"Of course." Gohan nodded. Allowing him his lie. Anything he felt he needed to save face after the rejection. "Come over whenever you have any time. Mom and Bulma-san would love to see you. We'll all share water together."

…

Gohan arrived back home feeling exhausted. Not just because he spent most of his day wrangling an uncooperative whale-fish, had to help his Mom and Bulma-san wrestle the kids into pajamas and naps, and went out after dinner instead of going to sleep like everyone else. But also because he hurt Dende's feelings. He was guilty, which also made him a bit depressed.

He walked through the open doorway, brushing against what was left of the door hinge.

When they first arrived on Namek, Bardock had been with them and he built them this house. Far enough away from the village to ensure that they would have enough warning in case the locals decided to attack, but still close enough that travel to the village would be easy -even for Mom who had been pregnant at the time- in case they needed something from the locals -which they often did in the early days. For all his clairvoyance and foresight, he was still a Saiyan at heart. That meant he saw everything as a possible opponent to be defeated. It sometimes made him hard to live with. Gohan would be lying if he said he wasn't just a little glad when his grandfather finally decided to leave.

After he was gone, Gohan and Bulma-san went around the house, taking the doors off their hinges and repurposing the material for other things. Hanging curtains over the bedroom doorways for privacy, but other wise making the house more open and friendly, like the local homes. Converting the place into something more closely resembling a real Namekian house. But that one damn hinge in the main entrance seemed stuck there forever. Right at shoulder hight, and Gohan always seemed to bump into it whenever he wasn't paying attention.

He grumbled some curses he'd learned from Bardock under his breath, not really knowing what he was saying, having never learned their meaning, and stalked towards the kitchen. His mother insisted on having a kitchen as close to the one she had on Earth as possible -which wasn't very close. But it had a cold-box to store leftovers, which was all Gohan cared about at the moment. Yes, he'd had a large dinner, and yes, his belly had been full when he'd met with Dende. But he was also half-Saiyan and that meant that he was always hungry, not matter how much he ate. The boys did their fair share of snacking too.

Gohan pulled out a container of today's fish and proceeded to eat it cold. When the container was empty he thought about taking out a second one, but the kids would want something to eat when they woke up for their mid-nap snack. So he left the rest of the fish undisturbed and tiptoed to his room. Originally, Bardock had built a three bedroom house, one for himself, Gohan, and Mom. But then Bulma-san arrived with Trunks and Bardock added on an extra room. So, now that he was gone, Mom had her own room, Bulma-san had her own room, Trunks and Goten shared a room and Gohan took Bardock's old room.

He flopped down on his bedroll before remembering that it was always day on Namek and night would never come. So, he picked himself up again and pulled the shade over his window, plunging the room into total darkness.

He didn't want to think about his father or the events that brought him to Namek, but Dende brought them up and now it was all Gohan could think about.

Laying in his darkened room, he remembered how scared he was cowering with his mother in a cell in the bowls of the Palace on Vegeta-sei.

His father placing a hand on his head, not quite ruffling his hair. "Hey, Gohan, it'll be okay."

At the time, at the age of eleven, he couldn't imagine how anything could ever be okay again. They were lightyears from home, locked-up in a dank dark dungeon, the prisoners of an evil alien menace, and being threatened with death. But he believed his father anyway. Goku had this way about him, something in his air, the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, it made people want to trust him.

"Kakarot, its time." A voice from the shadows informed them and two armored guards appeared to escort his father out.

Goku did not struggle or fight back. He set his expression into what Kuririn-san often called his 'game-face'. Eyes serious and determined, mouth set in a firm line. He walked out of the cell with his shoulders strait and his head held high. Not prideful but rather defiant. 'You can kill me, but you'll never beat me!'

Gohan never saw his father's execution. For the most part, he was glad of that. He didn't want to see his father like that. Strung between two pillars, helpless and waiting for the executioner's blow to fall. But… at the same time, some dark and morbid part of him lamented the fact that he never got to see his father in his final moments. Mom didn't want Bulma-san to tell him about it, she thought it would be to difficult for him to hear. Sometimes, she still saw him as her fragile little baby. But Bulma-san did tell him at least about his father's final words. Strong and defiant, just as Gohan remembered him walking out of that cell.

"I am Son Goku. I am an Earthling!"

Bardock watched the execution. But he never spoke about it either. Though, Gohan suspected that his grandfather's reasons had little to do with sheltering him from the evils of the world. Saiyans -as a general rule- did not believe in sheltering the young. No… Gohan sensed more of a deep current of rage underneath his grandfather's quiet and stoic exterior. He didn't talk about Goku's execution because doing so would just work him up into a rage and that wouldn't be practical while they were on the run.

Gohan also suspected that his help in their escape had little to do with the fact that they were blood-kin, and more to do with the fact that it would piss-off the monarchy that had sentenced his son to an undeserved death. Bardock stayed with them for a little short of one Terran year, and in that time, he felt no familial affection from his paternal grandfather. He never hugged Gohan or his mother, he never shared water with them. When meals were served, he ate outside and away from them. When he was home, he locked himself in his room, when he was not at home he spent almost entire twenty-four hour cycles far from the house and village.

Everyone was a little relieved when he finally decided to leave. Without even saying 'good-bye'. At least, not a real 'good-bye'. He just disappeared on day while the rest of them were all sleeping. Climbing into his pod and flying away when no one could see him or stop him. Looking back, Gohan should have know something was up.

Not necessarily that the old man was planning to leave, but that something was different. He was more social. He ate his dinner inside the house, not with the family, he didn't like how Goten and Trunks would cry for no justifiable reasons, and watching Mom and Bulma-san breast-feed them made him uncomfortable. So, he ate in another room. It was as close to eating with the family that he ever got. And after the meal, when everyone was getting ready for bed. Mom and Bulma putting the kids down for their naps while Gohan did the dishes -it was his turn- that Bardock offered his final parting words.

Bringing his plate into the kitchen and setting it beside the stone basin that was their sink. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, tail dangling casually behind him. Bardock didn't look at Gohan when he said, "You're strong. But you need to be stronger. Keep training with that 'Demon King' master of yours."

And he pushed off the counter and walked back out of the room. "Be seeing you."

The next morning, Bardock was gone.

Although, Gohan would be lying if he said he wasn't a little sad to see his paternal grandfather go. The man had never showed him even one warm feeling, but he was one of the final ties Gohan had to his father. For that reason, and that reason alone, he missed the old man.

Dende didn't really understand any of that.

He was there for some of it. He witnessed Bardock's aloofness and refusal to share water. He was there to hug Gohan and comfort him after the old man left. But he didn't really understand. There were some aspects of mammalian life and culture that a Namekian just couldn't understand.

Like today and his offer to become life partners.

Gohan liked Dende. They were best friends. They were water-brothers. They shared a bond that -to any outside culture without such a custom- might make them appear to already be something similar to 'boyfriends'. But that wasn't the case. It was basically the removal of social barriers, 'I share water with you, you are now my family, you are my brother.' Gohan was content for things to remain that way. But a life partner was something different. A life partner was committing yourself to one person for the rest of your days. Living with them as a mate. Raising offspring with them as mates should. But humans and Saiyans did not mate in the same way as Namekians. In fact, Namekians didn't really 'mate' at all -not as most mammals understand the term.

One Namekian did not need a second to reproduce. Namekians reproduced asexually. When the time was right, they gurgitated eggs from their mouths. That egg then hatched into a brand new Namekian child. So, life partners had nothing to do with mating in that sense. What a life partner was, was a companion. A partner for life -hence the name. Looking at it from that angle, there didn't seem to be any reason for Gohan to refuse.

…Except for the 'for life' part. For life, was a promise that Gohan wasn't sure he could make at this point in his own life.

As Dende said, they were both young -by both their peoples' count of time. Gohan liked girls. True it had been many years since he had last seen a female of a like age, and the last time he'd been around girls he was to young to really think about them as important fixtures in his life. But he was fairly certain that if he met a female now, at this point in his life, he would be very interested in her. Possibly more interested in her than he was in whatever partnership he might have formed with Dende. It was something the Namekian sorcerer couldn't understand, but the pull of a penis was quite compelling.

Gohan closed his eyes and imagined his perfect woman. Long dark hair, wide eyes -maybe blue or gray, he wasn't sure-, narrow shoulders but wide hips. Yes… nice curvy hips. And shapely legs. Legs that could wrap around him, pull him into her. She would be willful and feisty, but also practical. A fighter? Hm, maybe. He still wasn't sure about that. But she would definitely have to enjoy physical activity. Yes. Were Gohan ever to get a female of his own kind, he planned to do a great deal of physical activity with her.

A knock on the frame of his doorway startled Gohan out of his fantasies and he quickly threw a blanket over himself before the curtain that served as a privacy screen was pulled aside, flooding the room with light.

"Gohan, are you home?" His mother stood in the open doorway.

He suppressed another curse that he'd learned from Bardock and tried his best not to glare at her. Sometimes, Mom had the worst timing ever! "Yes. I'm home."

Which should have been obvious since he was laying in his bed, a blanket thrown over him, and looking very much like he'd just been caught committing a taboo.

"Did you have fun at Dende's?" She asked as if he were still eleven and just returned from a playdate.

"Mom, can I just have, like, five minuet? Please?"

Chichi blinked in confusion, not understanding her son's request. Gohan really hoped he wasn't going to have to explain it to her.

"Oh. Oh!" She backed out of the doorway, letting the curtain fall back into place. "I'll go warm something up for you and the boys to eat."

Well, that was awkward.

Now, where was he? Oh yes. His perfect woman would be physically active, very physically active. Not necessarily a fighter, but fit, athletic. With narrow shoulders, and wide hips, and sharply legs that would wrap around his waist… Yes. His ideal woman…

…

Training and sparring was a necessity for hansaiya.

Every day, with the exception of long hunting or fishing trips, Gohan took the boys out for training, sparring, and -if he could get them to sit still long enough- meditation. All under the watchful eyes of Gohan's original master, Piccolo.

He hovered above the hansaiya trio, keeping out of the immediate disaster zone. A large expanse of Namek's land had been converted into a veritable wasteland by their power over the years. Always being reformed and rearranged every day so that no new life could creep in and repair the damage. They made sure to use the same place every day, lest they make the whole planet uninhabitable. Piccolo watched Gohan work with the boy's holding himself back enough so as not to permanently damage them or destroy their self-confidence, but still providing enough of a challenge to give them a decent workout and satisfy their Saiyan sides' craving for violence.

Even so young, their Saiyan blood burned for battle.

It was offset by their human blood's desire for temperance and stability. The two opposing halves of their nature always at war with one another, violent and passionate, against calm and reserved. But after so many years working with Gohan and living with them on his ancestral home world, Piccolo seemed to have found an acceptable balance for them. Life in the village, as part of the clan, and water-brothers with the people who lived there gave them the temperance and stability that humans needed to live happily and healthily. The daily training and sparring offered an outlet for their more violent Saiyan natures. And the occasional big game or suicidal fishing trips both satisfied their bloodlust and provided enough food to feed their human mothers and appease their own ungodly appetites.

All and all, they had made a good life here.

"Trunks, you'er over-extending on your right side!" Piccolo called to them, playing the role of the aloof coach. "You're leaving your left wide open to attack."

The lavender haired hansaiya began to snarl something very rude up at the former Demon King, now turned mentor and baby-sitter. But he was cut off mid-curse by a hard blow to his left side. Knocking the wind out of him and propelling him back and to the side for several feet.

"He's right, you know." Gohan smiled at the younger boy, shifting from his attack back into a defensive posture just in time to block a kick from Goten. "And watch your language. Mom and Bulma-san would kill me if they knew I let you talk like that."

They continued their sparring session for several more hours. With both Gohan and Piccolo coaching the boy on what they did wrong, how they might improve this, or alter that to better fit their own style, etc. And Piccolo coached Gohan on what he did wrong and how he might better alter or improve the techniques he taught him to fit with his dual-nature and Saiyan battle instincts. As you go through life, you never stop learning and improving. Piccolo made a point of reminding Gohan of that and showing the boys that while he might be older, more experienced, and more skilled than they were, he was still not infallible. No man was perfect.

Finally a break was called.

They all found a mostly level area of the wastes to sit. The water was brought out and the cup filled and passed around.

This was casual water sharing. No slow sipping or turning of the cup before passing it. Just gulp it down, drink your fill and pass it along. If you empty the cup, refill it before passing to the next person.

Gohan brought out the last of the fish they'd caught. It was lovingly divided up into three bento-style boxes by Chichi before they left. To ensure that each hansaiya boy got the exact same portion. She operated under the belief that, when it came to food, 'share' dropped out of their vocabulary. Saiyans and their monstrous appetites.

The food was gone almost instantly. Trunks and Goten practically inhaling their portions the moment they opened their boxes. Their eyes then turned to Gohan's portion, which he ate at a much more controlled and polite pace. He regarded the boys cautiously out the corner of his eye, then placed his hand protectively over his box of fish. Swallowing the bite that was in his mouth, he said, "Don't even think about it, Squirts."

Perhaps Chichi was right. When it came to Saiyans and food, there really was no such thing as 'sharing'.

Trunks and Goten exchanged a look. They glanced between Gohan and his bento-box, weighing their options. They looked back to one another and nodded, coming to their decision. Gohan braced for an attack. The two boys bent their knees as if to jump… and vaulted right over Gohan and off into the sky, flying towards the nearest body of water that might hold more fish. The older boy sighed with relief. They were learning.

Piccolo moved to sit by him. He offered the drinking tumbler, which Gohan accepted.

"I noticed Dende didn't join us today." Said the alien mentor. "He usually jumps at the chance to practice healing you guys."

Gohan looked down at his box of fish, suddenly not feeling quite so hungry anymore. He considered telling Piccolo that it was nothing, Dende had a lot of studying to do. Use the fib the young sorcerer himself had given. But Gohan learned years ago that he couldn't lie to his master. So, he said, "Dende asked me to be his life partner yesterday."

Piccolo nodded, as if giving some sort of approval. "You and he have been close almost since you arrived here. Its a good match. I'm happy for you."

"I said 'no'." Gohan informed him. Then because he'd been agonizing over it since yesterday, "Do you think I made the wrong choice?"

"Do you think it was the wrong choice?"

Gohan hated it when he did that, turned the original question back on him. He liked Piccolo a lot. He was his first master and had been an almost-father figure to him since his own father's death. But sometimes, when giving advice, he could be a little frustrating. So, he gave his mentor the same answer he gave Dende the day before, "I don't know if I can agree to something like that yet. I haven't been tested. Since I don't know, I can't promos anything."

Piccolo nodded. "That's wise. Even if it does also sound like your rationalizing. I'm still happy for you."

"Why?" Now Gohan was genuinely confused.

"Because the worst thing you have to worry about is your relationship with Dende." Explained the former Demon King.

That was true. The worst thing Gohan had to worry about was his relationship with his best friend. Eight years ago that was not the case. Eight years ago he had so much more to worry about, the idea of a romantic problem wouldn't even have entered into his mind. Between his father's death, running from the Saiyans, adjusting to a new alien planet, trying to live with his grandfather whom he'd only just met, his mother's pregnancy, Bulma-san's arrival with Trunks, his grandfather's leaving… They really had come a long way since then. Back then, what he had now would have seemed like an impossible dream.

A calm, peaceful life.

Gohan smiled. His relationship with Dende might be a bit shaky now. But he'd been through worse. Much worse. And he'd come out alright in the end. Not just alright, but better than he was before. This trouble with Dende would pass and their friendship, their brotherhood, would be all the stronger for it.

As his father told him all those years ago… "It'll be okay."

…

A few days later, a Saiyan space pod landed on Namek.


	3. The Unwanted Son

The procession began at the Palace. The Prince at the late King's head as Pallet Bearer of the Right, with Nappa opposite him as Bearer of the Left. Behind them, carrying the other two corners were Zorn and Raisu, members of the late King's court. Tarble should have been Bearer of the Left. Walking at the head of the column next to his brother, carrying their father through the streets of Salaad to the Temple of Fire for his funeral pyre. But the banished Prince had no desire to carry the man who had discarded him to an honorable funeral, so instead, he watched the procession from a distance.

They were all dressed in funeral reds, crimson cloaks draped over their armor, their large shoulders underneath making them look almost comical, capes billowing behind them. The men with heavy hoods covering their hair, the women with sheer veils obscuring their faces.

The path lead then through the Square, around the dais with its twin raised pillars, then down the main street. It was the kind of slow, measured march of people that confronted with a heavy and sobering fact -no man, no matter how powerful, could live forever. Tarble, for one, was glad of that fact. His father had been a special kind of sonofabitch, the type you'd expect even the denizens of whatever foul pit he was sent to would be disgusted by. And he wasn't the only person who thought so. Watching the procession through the city, Tarble noticed that no one cried, or even looked the least bit sad for that matter. They were quiet and sober, but not sad.

Inside the Temple of Fire, the King's pallet was carried up to the highest spire and placed upon a bed of wood. The weapons of his enemies were piled at his feet and oil was pored over his body. Those whom had come to watch the funeral hovered outside the tower, watching through the open matte roof, or through the tall wide arches as a Priest of the Temple passed the torch to Prince Vegeta.

Hovering outside, Tarble pulled his own funeral-red hood lower over his face. He didn't want Niisan to catch a glimpse of him in the watching crowd and invite him in to light the pyre together. Not that Tarble actually thought he would. Or maybe it was because he just didn't want to admit that he even came to watch his father's funeral at all. Gure told him not to come, that it was best to just put his anger with his father aside and forgive. Tarble always used to tell her that he wouldn't forgive the old man until he was dead. Now he was, but Tarble was still angry. Perhaps she was right, he shouldn't have come. Should have stayed on Gyu, where it was comfortable and warm, and didn't stink of hostility and aggression.

Niisan stepped up to the pyre as the Priest of the Temple spoke the Final Dispatch and as the final syllables of the prayer fell from the Priest's lips, Niisan lit the oiled wood and their father went up in flames. His armor and the weapons piled at his feet hissed and gave off a noxious black smoke that stank evilly and made their eyes burn. Even in death, the sonofabitch had to make people suffer. Tarble was glad he was gone. At least after tonight, when his pyre was nothing but cold ashes, King Vegeta's terror would be over. Maybe Tarble would forgive him after that.

It took hours for a funeral pyre to burn. Slowly, the crowd began to dwindle. The people whom had come to watch realizing that it wasn't really all that interesting to watch a still body burn. Especially not when they had to smell the awful stink of the armor and weapons that were going with him. Eventually, the only ones who remained were the King's court standing inside the tower -whom were required to stay- and Tarble, hovering outside, moving with every change of the wind to avoid breathing in the noxious smoke.

Finally, when there was nothing left of the late King Vegeta but a pile of smoldering embers, the Prince stepped forward once again. Tarble watched his Niisan dip two fingers in the still hot ash of the pyre and spread the blackened dust on his face. Then Nappa stepped up and did the same. Then the Lady Soy. Then Raisu and Zorn. Then the rest of the court present. When everyone wore a piece of the old King on their face, they filed out of the tower. First Niisan with Soy on his arm. Then Nappa. And so on. Eventually there was no one but Tarble hovering outside.

He debated with himself about going inside. Spreading his father's ashes on his face to mark the old man's passing and remind him of his own mortality. But something held him back. Tarble had no desire to remember his father or mark his passing, and he needed no reminder of his own mortality.

The funeral done, he was about to turn and leave. Go back to his ship and return to Gyu. He saw what he came to see. His father was dead and three days after the ashes turn cold, Niisan would be crowned the new King. What more needed to be done?

But just as Tarble had made up his mind to go, a movement out the corner of his eye drew his attention back to the tower.

Another man landed next to the smoldering pyre. Unlike all the other mourners, he did not wear funeral reds. In fact, he was dressed for a purge-mission. Dark armor with green straps and trim. A red bandanna around his head -a symbol to remember those whom have passed-, and a cross-shaped scar on his cheek. Tarble felt like he should recognize the man. A cross-shaped scar was a rather distinctive feature, and few Saiyans received scars on their faces. But he was to long removed from the rest of Vegeta-sei and its people to place the scar with a reputation or the face it was carved into to a name.

Curious, he hovered closer to the tower and saw the man walk right up on to the still hot ash. But rather than bend down and spread the darkened dust on his face as was tradition, he instead ground his heel into it. Making whatever larger pieces that didn't burn, crack and break with brittle crunches under his boot. Tarble wasn't sure, but he thought he could hear the man laughing. A dark, mirthless, evil laugh, filled with rage and hate. A kind of hate that couldn't be expressed in words, but was felt through the air. A tightness around your shoulders, a pickling on the back of your neck. It was unnerving.

Then, he lifted his head, turned and looked at Tarble. Right at him.

The exiled Prince froze where he hovered. Unmoving. The wind whipping his funeral-reds about him, threatening to throw the hood from his face and expose him to the world.

The stranger grinned a knowing grin, as if he was aware of some secret truth that Tarble was not privy to. They remind like that for some moments, just staring at each other, Tarble with his hood pulled down over his face, obscuring his identity, the man grinning as if he already knew who he was looking at. Then, just like that, he flew away. Leaving the most curious of parting words the exiled Prince could imagine for two strangers crossing paths.

"Be seeing you."

…

As it happened, Tarble decided not to leave immediately and return to Gyu and Gure.

Instead, he snuck into the Palace. All the secret and concealed passages were all the same, unchanged from when he and Niisan used to play in them. Hiding from Nappa or their tutors, escaping lessons, only to be ultimately punished -and punished harshly- by their father.

He slipped into the Great Hall easily enough. His crimson cloak was of fine quality with gold and copper embroidery. His appearance fit right in with the rest of the court, equally finely dressed. Funerals and victories in great battles were about the only things the Saiyans dressed up for. They celebrated death and victory. Gyu was the exact opposite. On planet Gyu they celebrated life -weddings and births. Tarble suddenly found himself wondering why he was still here and hadn't gone home to his mate and comfortable lifestyle. But then he saw Niisan up at the high table, looking board and pensive, and ever so slightly depressed. He wondered if -on some level deep down, really, really, really deep down- Niisan actually missed the old sonofabitch.

It had been years since they last saw each other. Tarble heard he'd taken the Lady Soy as a mate, a woman that father had chosen for him -not Vegeta-Niisan's own choice. Watching them from where he sat in the back of the Hall, as far from the High Table as he could be without leaving the room, Tarble could discern no real indication of their feelings for one another. He spoke to her civilly, as he would any other lady of the court. But there was no warmth in his eyes, no expressions of hidden affection.

Father did, at the very least, care somewhat for their mother. Tarble knew this to be true because that was one of the reason the old man hated him so very much. The late Queen Celery had given up her own life to give Tarble his. For that, the late King Vegeta loathed his younger son.

Niisan and Soy had no children.

Watching them barely interact with one another at the High Table, Tarble wondered if his brother even laid with her at all. Or if her title of Princess-Consort and position as his mate was in name only. Something Niisan agreed to, to please father and now that the old sonofabitch was dead, he was stuck with the arrangement.

The food was good. The food was always good at Saiyan feasts. Food was one of the Saiyan races three passions. Food. Battle. Sex. -Not necessarily in that order. But there was little of the food that Tarble could actually eat, having chosen long ago to keep kashress, to adhere to the dietary laws and restrictions of Gyu. He could not eat meat in combination with dairy, the flesh of animals that either carried their homes on their backs or did not chew their cud were considered 'unclean' and unfit to eat. Also, no animal could be eaten if it was killed in an unnecessarily cruel or painful method, and the name of Hamesh must be spoken over each dish as it was prepared. That wasn't going to happen here. So, he tried to ignore those last two rules and mostly picked off things here and there. Keeping to the poultry or fish dishes, avoiding the rich cheeses -no matter how delicious they smelled- and finishing off almost an entire tray of grilled vegetables by himself.

When the food was gone, or the dinners content with full bellies, Niisan stood from the high table, offering the Lady Soy his arm. The rest of the court stood and bowed as the Prince exited. It was only after he was gone that they were given leave to do the same.

Tarble darted into another concealed passage the first moment he got when it was clear.

He sprinted up a narrow flight of spiral steps. Flying might have made the climb easier, but he didn't want to risk someone's scouter picking up on his ki. So, he kept to a run, using the muscles in his legs over the energy of his aura. Niisan was already in his suits by the time Tarble arrived. Having, apparently, bid a goodnight to Soy and retired to his chambers alone. So, his earlier guess was right, they were 'mates' in name only. They didn't sleep together.

He knocked on the faux wall to give Niisan some warning before he just appeared in the room. A secret code from their youth that only the two of them knew. One knock, followed by five in a quick succession, then two more.

There was a pause on the side and Tarble wondered if Niisan had forgotten it. Then the code was repeated, one knock, five knocks, two knocks.

He slid the faux wall aside. "Long time, Niisan."

"Tarble!" His older brother exclaimed. "I thought I sensed you earlier."

Tarble wasn't planning on hugging Niisan. It just sort of happened.

The moment the panel slid away to allow him entrance into the room and he saw his Niisan, whom he hadn't seen on a little over fifteen years. He was older now. They both were. Niisan had cut his bangs, exposing the sharp widows peak of his hairline, making him look more like their father, his face showed stress lines that had not been there fifteen years ago, the demands of being crown Prince, or the stress of living with their father. Maybe both. Most curious of all, Niisan seemed to have two thin scars across his cheek, almost like cat-scratches only bigger. It was the kind of wound a scorned woman might inflict. Tarble might have been curious about it if all his other feeling weren't overridden by his joy and being with his big brother again.

Something in the younger Prince just leapt for joy at seeing someone fond and familiar. The next thing he knew, his arms were around Niisan's chest -he couldn't reach much higher, he was so short- and Niisan was trying to push him off.

Then, Tarble's brain caught up with his ears. "Sensed?"

"Eh." Niisan finally succeeded in extricating himself from his -still annoying, apparently- baby brother. "Its a technique I've been teaching myself for some years now. I can sense ki without a scouter."

"Niisan, you're so awesome!" And it was like they were twenty-one and ten again. With Vegeta-niisan learning a new and exciting technique and Tarble being so impressed by his big brother's skills and abilities.

Then Vegeta asked, "Why all the sneaking around? You are a Prince of House Vegeta. Have some pride."

Tarble's mood instantly soured. "You sound like him." He commented, refusing to refer to the man as 'father' out loud. "Have you forgotten that I'm still banished? At least for the next three days."

Niisan clapped him on the shoulder. "For the next three days, maybe. But as soon as I'm crowned King, the first thing I'm going to do is lift your exile. It'll be good to have you home again."

Not sure how to respond to that, Tarble unfastened his crimson cloak and draped it over a chair. It would be nice to be able to visit Vegeta-sei freely. To see his brother whenever he felt like making the trip. To not have to worry about being caught and executed for violating the King's decree. But… Vegeta-sei was not his home. His home was where Gure was, and Gure was in their house on the banks of the river Khanon, on Gyu. Briefly, Tarble tried to imagine his Gyujin mate living on Vegeta-sei, and he instantly realized that Gyu was where they must stay. Gure would not last a day here, and so here could never be his home.

Niisan pored two goblets of wine. A thick, dark, red wine and when he swirled it under his nose, Tarble clearly smelled blood mixed in with the fermented fruit. Chisake, then. The blood-wine. Drank during special occasions like the passing of Kings, the ascension of Princes, or victory over your enemies. Tarble vaguely wondered which event they were celebrating with this drink. All three seemed equally applicable. The death of the late King, Niisan's imminent ascension to the throne, and the fact that they both had outlived the old sonofabitch. Tarble decided he was celebrating that third and last one. Good riddance, old man!

"Hail the victorious dead." Niisan chimed, a standard drinking cheer for Saiyans.

"To life." Tarble countered. It was what they drank to on Gyu and, quite frankly, he preferred that to any of the common Saiyan toasts.

Niisan gave him an odd look. Regarding him curiously. "That too, I suppose."

They both chugged their goblets, neither pausing for breath until the cup was empty. Then they slammed the goblets hard on the table, making the chalha wood groan in protest.

"Another." Niisan refilled both this goblets.

"No, thank you, Niisan." Tarble waved off the second round. "I should keep a clear head. I'll be returning to Gyu today."

"Stay." Vegeta insisted. "Its stupid for you to fly all the way back there just to have to turn around and come back here again. I'm sure three days will pass sooner than you realize and I'll be King before your pod reaches that backwater mudball."

Tarble bristled defensively. Gyu was more his home that Vegeta-sei was. How dare Niisan speak of it that way! It was a million times more pleasant than this bleak and gloomy rock! "Thank you, Niisan, but I need to return to Gyu."

Niisan gave a shrug and took another swig of his wine. "If you feel you need to put your affairs in order there, I suppose that's fine too. After I'm King, you'll be free to return whenever you feel like it. I guess there's no real rush."

Tarble nodded in agreement and then both brothers lapsed into an awkward silence, having exhausted all topics they wanted to discuss.

They could have begun reminiscing about their youth. But that would, inevitably, also brought up their father, and neither of them wanted to remember him. He was finally dead and gone. They were free of him. That was all that mattered. There was no sense in dwelling on the past. Especially not such an unpleasant fixture of the past.

But the silence between them was becoming slightly uncomfortable. Tarble fidgeted.

Then Niisan randomly asked, "Besides you, how many non-natives live on Gyu?"

Tarble paused, confused by the seemingly arbitrary question. Was he that desperate to make conversation and break the awkward silence? But he answered, "To the best of my knowledge, Niisan, I am the only alien living on Gyu. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Vegeta answered quickly. Almost to quickly. Now Tarble was curious. Niisan stood, his wine in his hand, and began pacing the room. "If someone else landed on Gyu, are you in a position to know of it?"

"Well, I suppose." Tarble replied, still confused by his brother's interest. "Its a large planet but with a relatively low population and very few places that are actually habitable. News travels fast in communities that small. It takes a bit longer between tribes, but by the end of the year, everyone still knows everyone else's business."

"I see…" Niisan said slowly, as if considering. He paused in his pacing and looked pointedly at his younger brother. "So, you could tell me if a human female arrived on Gyu some eight or so years ago?"

"A human female?" Tarble blinked. "There are no humans on Gyu."

Niisan looked disappointed. But the expression was there and gone in less than a second, covered up by an impassive mask that reminded Tarble suspiciously of their father when thinking of sore subjects. He would not have even noticed if he didn't know his brother so well. It made Tarble curious about this human female. Was it just any human female that was supposed to have come to Gyu, or a specific one? And what was the context of this supposed migration? But most curious of all, why did it affect Niisan to the point of needing to hide it so deeply?

"Would you like me to keep a look out for a human female when I return?" He offered.

"No." Niisan shook his head. "No, that's not necessary. Don't wast your time."

They lapsed into another awkward silence.

Tarble thought about inviting him to Gyu after things settled down, after his coronation. But that would involve introducing him to Gure and explaining that he'd taken an alien woman as a mate. Tarble wasn't exactly sure what Niisan's personal views on that were, but the laws clearly stated that such a union was illegal. Non-Saiyans could be used as slaves, bed partners, even as high as lovers. But not mates. Never life-mates. Saiyans were required to take Saiyan mates. Inter-racial unions were forbidden.

But then… he and Gure couldn't have children together. Their two races were alike enough that their parts fit together -and fit together rather nicely in Tarble's opinion- but they were not alike enough to allow for them to create a new life. There would never be any Gyujin hansaiya. That was the reason that law was instated in the first place. To prevent the propagation of hansaiya. Since that was not an issue with Tarble and his mate, would it be okay to introduce her to his brother? Heck! His brother was King -well, would be King soon. Maybe he could convince Vegeta-niisan to change the law. It would be nice to be able to invite Niisan to shabaht dinner.

But how to broach such a subject…?

"Niisan…?" He began awkwardly. "What do you think about the way things are?"

Vegeta looked at him from over his wine goblet. "What kind of question is that? Be specific."

"About our… outlook on other races. On, uh, mingling with other races."

Tarble expected Niisan to grunt something ambivalent and noncommittal. Something to convey that he had no opinion one way or another. What other Saiyans did in privacy was no concern of his. That he didn't care. Instead, Niisan went very, very still. Setting his wine down so carefully that it barely made a sound. He leveled a stare at Tarble. A measured and calculating look he remembered seeing on Niisan's face in the training circle whenever sizing up an enemy. Somehow, without knowing how and certainly not meaning to, he struck a delicate cord with his brother.

"Why do you ask?" Vegeta asked softly, almost dangerously. Like a predator leading its prey.

Seconds ticked by as Tarble went back over his conversation in his mind, trying to deduce a reason for his brother's reaction and give the safest response. Niisan had asked about a human female. Why would Niisan have an interest in a human female? Furthermore, why would he think that a human female would go to Gyu? Humans were kept mostly on their native planet of Earth, with the exception of a few brilliant scientists that were relocated to Vegeta-sei to put their knowledge and skills to work for the monarchy… A tentative idea was forming in Tarble's head. It was a little unlikely and suspiciously coincidental, but it was also entirely possible… he could even see exactly how it might have happened too! Provided the female in question was a scientist.

"Niisan… That human female you asked about, was she your lo-"

He didn't get to finish the question. One second he was speaking face to face with his Niisan, the next moment, one arm was twisted behind his back and his head was being pressed against the chalha wood table.

"We do not speak of such things aloud, Tarble." Niisan whispered in his ear.

"It's okay." The younger Prince insisted. "Niisan, I understand."

"No." Vegeta whispered back. "You don't. Father cast you out long before it happened. Long before she came to this world. You do not understand because you weren't there. I had hoped she would go to you on Gyu. Since she did not, there is no need for you to know anymore."

Tarble's skull hurt from the pressure of Niisan's hand pressing his head to the dense wood table. He wondered how much the older man had had to drink and if he was paying attention to his strength or if he actually did mean for it to hurt this much. He heard the wood creek in his ear. Tarble thought about Gure and what he might have done if his and Niisan's positions were reversed. He and Gure sharing an affair on Vegeta-sei while Niisan lived in exile. If something were to happen that created a need for Gure to flee, would he trust his brother to keep her safe? Would he send her to Vegeta? Some eight years ago, yes.

"I have a mate." He whispered.

The pressure on his head slackened, but Niisan still kept a tight hold of his arm. Keeping it firmly twisted behind his back.

"What?" Niisan paused. "But there are no other Saiyans living on Gyu."

"No, there aren't." Tarble agreed.

There was a beat of silence and Niisan allowed Tarble's arm to slip free. He massaged everything that felt sore. This was why he hated coming to Vegeta-sei. Everyone's first reaction to everything was violence. Violence, intimidation, hostility. Even before finding peace and camaraderie on Gyu, Tarble hated it. Hated the Saiyan way of life. It was one of the reason's father banished him. There was no room for a counterculturist within the House of the King.

"So, you see, Niisan. We're the same."

Vegeta laughed, low, dark and ironic. "No, Tarble, we're not the same. But we're far more alike than I thought."

Tarble paused, considering his next words. "Niisan, if you also disagree with the way things are then, when you're King, will you change them?"

The silence that dragged on after that question was even longer than any of the ones prior. Vegeta-niisan was quiet so long, in fact, that Tarble began to wonder if he wasn't going to answer at all. Finally, after the prolonged pause dragged on well past long enough, Niisan slumped back down in his seat. Grabbing his goblet on wine, he downed the remainder of it in one gulp and pored himself another.

"I have been debating that question almost my whole life, Tarble." He confessed. "I hate the way things are. Almost as much as you do. But…" A pause. "You know, Father didn't have to exile you."

The old anger welled up fast and hot. "Of course he didn't have to! But he did!"

"Let me finish." Snapped Vegeta-niisan. "Father didn't have to send you away. He could have killed you instead."

Tarble just gapped at his older brother, the old anger ebbing away a bit. But things like that ran deep and after the words sank in and were fully process, it flowed back into him, his anger with their father barely managing to remain simmering under the surface when he said, "Don't tell me those were his only options, Niisan. He was King! He could have done whatever he damn well pleased! He just didn't care."

"You don't understand." Vegeta insisted. "He did care. That was why he banished you instead of killing you. You're right, Tarble, he was King. But when we were younger we never quite realized that our House remained the ruling family of Vegeta-sei by the will of the rest of the Saiyan people. Its true, father was the strongest warrior of his generation and that was what allowed him to claim the right to be King. But he was still just one man. If all the rest of Vegeta-sei decided they did not agree with him as King and banded together, then Father would not have been King for long. He sent you away because it was the only thing that allowed him to save your pathetic life while still satisfying the people." Looking away, as if speaking to someone else, he repeated, "He sent you away to keep you safe."

At his sides, Tarble's hands balled into fists. He was not a violent man by nature. That was, in fact, one of the reasons why he'd been cast out by his own people in the first place. But talking about their father always made him want to hit something. A table, a wall, a door. Not a person. Never a person. Tarble hated seeing pain and fear in people's faces. No matter how angry he was.

"You sound just like him!" He snarled. "So, that's it then? You spent all that time dreaming of all the things you would change when you're King and three days from now when you're crowned you'll go through with none of them. Instead keep things as they are. As they've ever been. Broken! Casting off the weak that don't fit into the Saiyan idea of a perfect warrior society. Punishing citizens who've committed no other crime but loving someone other than their own kind. Killing failures, pacifist, deserters… children! For no other reason than they don't fit the Saiyan ideal. What about that human woman you asked about? If you changed things, maybe-!"

Tarble knew he hit a nerve even before the blow fell. Vegeta striking him across the face, hard enough to make the younger man clatter spinning to the floor.

"Don't you dare bring her into this." Vegeta warned, low and dangerous.

From his position on the floor, Tarble looked up at his elder brother. "Niisan, think about the future. Is this really how you want the Saiyans to always be? I'll never have children of my own, my mate and I aren't compatible enough for that. But you… do you really want your heirs living in our father's world?"

For a moment, Tarble thought he'd won the argument. He could tell his words affected Niisan. It was written all over his face, his body going slack in defeat. But then that impassive mask was back on. One hand balling into a fist. It took Niisan several moments to get himself completely under control. But when he finally had command of himself, he said, "The only people who's futures I care about are either so well hidden as to not be affected by the Saiyans anymore… or else they're already dead. Either way, I don't have to worry about them anymore. They are beyond my reach."

His human woman. But, wait… 'people'!? Plural? As in more than one? Multiple human women? Or… one human woman and one (or more) forbidden hansaiya bastard…? Tarble gasped at the idea.

"You can't change a people who do not wish to change, Tarble." Niisan explained. "I can make inter-racial mating legal. I can lift the standing kill-order on hansaiya children. But nothing would change. Inter-racial couples will still be persecuted, their non-Saiyan partners and hansaiya offspring would still be killed. I could impose laws to discourage such action. Punish those responsible, but that would anger more people than it would save. So long as a majority are content with the way things are, nothing can change."

"You sound like you're not even going to try!" Tarble climbed to his feet and shouted at his brother. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. If it weren't for the fact that he was actually able to get a word in, and Niisan was younger and didn't have a goatee, Tarble could have sworn he was talking to their father instead. He'd had enough. He knew he should have just left after the funeral. He didn't know what possessed him to sneak into the Palace and see Niisan. Maybe Gure was right, maybe he shouldn't even have come to Vegeta-sei at all. "I've heard enough. I'm going home. Don't worry about lifting my exile, I don't intend to come back here again. Ever."

He crossed to the secret passage he'd come through and slid the faux wall open.

"Tarble, wait!"

He stepped through the opening. "Sholem alaichem, Niisan. Peace be with you!"

And he slammed the faux wall shut behind him.

…

Nothing could go right, it seemed. This whole damn trip must be cursed! -Or something.

It wasn't enough that the old man's funeral brought him no peace. That it seemed like Niisan was going to turn out just like him. That nothing about his former people was going to change -ever! But now his pod was having trouble. That was just fantastic. Just fan-fucking-tastic! The perfect end to a perfect trip. Out here, in the middle-of-nowhere space with ship trouble.

Tarble pulled up his charts for the area. Not much around. A few random asteroids, nothing big enough to support an atmosphere and he didn't have an evac suit to make exterior repairs without a breathable atmosphere. One planet that did have an atmosphere, but it was sulphur-based, not breathable by him. Great. Just wonderful.

His already foul mood quickly sinking into pessimistic depredation, Tarble ran a complete diagnostic on all his pod's systems, both hardware and software. He could go a bit farther if he pushed a bit. Hamesh willing, he could reach someplace to step outside of his pod and do repairs before the thing failed completely and he was left to drift in the emptiness of space forever. Never to be found again. Gure never to know what happened to him.

The closest system that he could reach was a tri-star system, three stars orbiting one another. A red giant, a yellow star, and a blue dwarf. Orbiting those three suns was one single planet. The surface was supposed to be eighty percent water. Under-developed. Primitive. Some technology and basic space-travel. Nothing special or even very sophisticated. But it was a planet and it had oxygen. At the moment, that was all Tarble needed. He could figure out the rest later.

He set course for planet Namek.

The sky was green. That was new. The skies of Vegeta-sei were a sort of buttery yellow, and on Gyu the sky was almost as blue as the waters of the river Khanon.

The grass was blue. That was odd. A high copper content in the vegetation, maybe? Tarble wasn't really in a mood to give it much thought.

He climbed out of his pod to examine the damage with his own eyes. He knew what his equipment told him. But sometimes problems that sounded complicated on a diagnostic screen could actually be solved rather quickly and easily with just a little applied physics. Sometimes, just hitting things got them to work. But that was not the case this time.

The pod's hyperdrive cylinder was cracked. That meant, -aside from the fact that hitting it would just make the problem worse- that the part had to be replaced. Wonderful! More good news. And this damn planet was supposed to be underdeveloped. Basic space travel. Little technology. Primitive. Where in the name of Hamesh was he going to find a replacement hyperdrive cylinder in this god forsaken spit of dirt? Well, he wasn't going to find anything just standing here glaring at his pod as if doing so would compel the thing to fix itself.

Tarble had neither the skill nor the knowledge to fashion a makeshift replacement part even if he did manage to find some version of similar technology. But who knows. Hamesh works in mysterious ways. Maybe he would find a miracle. Tarble tapped his scouter, searching for any technology of a level-nine or above.

The green glass lens did not immediately register anything of use. But then, technology scans did not reach as far as ki scans went. The scouters technology scanner got maybe only a fourth the range of the power level sensor. The scouters being originally designed to help analyze an opponent's battle strength, with all other functions being secondary. Tarble switched to searching for strong ki signatures. After all, it stood to reason that the most powerful person -or people- on the plant would also be the richest and have premium access to the best technology. That was Saiyan reasoning. A lapse that happened occasionally when he was feeling particularly negative. It might be slightly flawed logic, but it was at least something to go on for the moment.

His scouter read several groupings of ki all in different directions. Different settlements of the locals, maybe? Probably. He chose the nearest one because it was close and if he had to move his pod for it to be fixed, it would be the easiest place to move it to. According to his scouter, there were stronger kis to the west. But they were far away and he didn't feel like spending the extra effort if he didn't have to.

Tarble landed in what might have been their town center. It was a little hard to tell. The village looked to have been constructed with very little city-planning done ahead of time. More like whenever they wanted to construct a new building they just chose a spot arbitrarily and plopped their structure down there. Not that he had any right to judge. On Vegeta-sei buildings were build high. One on top of the other, reaching up into the sky until they reached the thinner atmosphere and had to stop. Then on Gyu, the tribes build their cities hugging the river. His house on the HIgh Bank had a wall that rose up right out of the water's edge.

The Namekians were green-skinned and humanoid shaped -a common shape through out the universe. Two arms, two legs, one head. Their ears were pointed and they sported antennae from their foreheads. They looked at him curiously as he drifted down from the sky. Not with either awe or fear. So, they were neither impressed by his flight ability, nor intimidated by the armor he still wore -not feeling like pausing long enough to change back into his Gyujin clothes before leaving Vegeta-sei. That indicated that they either possessed the flight ability themselves, or at least enough of them did so that flying people were nothing to get excited about, or that they might also be a warrior race and the sight of a stranger in battle armor did not frighten them.

"You are not Gohan of Ighai Village."

Tarble turned around to see one of the aliens greet him with a patient smile. Patient. Not exactly welcoming. He looked to be older than the average -not that he was any great judge of alien aging. But in this case, Tarble was fairly certain he was some version of an elder. Fatter than the others, with heavier cheeks, and wrinkles on his face. He carried a wooden staff with a knobbed top. Not a warrior's staff, a sages staff. Some type of wise-man then? Or perhaps a leader of the community? He didn't know enough about their customs to guess.

"Have you come seeking the Dragon Balls then?" The elder Namekian continued.

"The dragon's what now!?" Tarble blinked. Maybe his scouter had mistranslated that. He tapped it a few times asking for alternate translations, scrolled through the list, decided none of them made much sense to him and that it was ultimately irrelevant. So, he continued, "No. My spaceship is damaged and I need parts to repair it."

"Ah." The Namekian smiled. A real smile, welcoming. Not the patient one from a moment ago. Apparently, because he was not looking for their dragon's balls that meant he could be trusted and shown basic hospitality. "You won't find anything like that here. But the Technician from Ighai Village might be able to help you."

He pointed his staff to the west, in the same direction as the three high power levels Tarble's scouter had picked up earlier. "The Technician lives in the village to the west. Follow the horizon until you get to the Big Water. If you fly over the Big Water you've gone to far. Ighai is on the delta at the Water's edge."

Dang. He was hoping he wouldn't have to move his ship that far. Well, he still wasn't gonna move it. At least, not until he was sure this Technician person could actually help. "Thank you. Peace be with you."

"May your cup never go dry." The Namekian replied.

He flew away, towards the west.

Ighai Viilage's reaction to his arrival was much closer to what Tarble had come to expect from people upon seeing a Saiyan in full armor appear in their midst.

They glared at him suspiciously. Their eyes just barely skipping over his face and going strait to the armor that covered his torso, then to the tail wrapped around his waist before back up to the armor. They were wary. This time there was no patient smile on the village elder's face when he cautiously walked up to Tarble, stopping just out of arm's reach -as if that could protect him from a Saiyan. Her gripped his staff tensely.

"You are a Saiyan." He said. It wasn't a question.

"I am." Tarble replied, feeling the old resentment towards his father and the traditions of his people well up again.

It was because of the old man that the rest of the galaxy regarded Saiyans this way. With suspicion, even fear. Distrusting. Unwelcoming. And it seemed like nothing was going to change any time soon. Niisan had no intention of amending the monarchy's foreign policies, or even their domestic ones for that matter. No. He was going to keep everything exactly the same as in the old man's day. It made Tarble so angry! It was those same policies and traditions that prompted father to send him away in the first place.

But then, if Niisan wasn't willing to try and change things, maybe he could. Not anything big or major, mind you. An exile like him didn't have sufficient power or influence to affect anything on Vegeta-sei. But he might be able to alter the rest of the galaxy's perceptions of the Saiyans. He could start right now. Right here, on Namek.

Spreading his arms at his sides, palms out, in a sign of peace and diplomacy, he said, "I mean you and your people no harm. My ship was damaged and I was forced to land on your world. I was told there was someone in this village who could help me fix my ship. A technician. Can you help me?"

The village elder was quiet a long time. Considering. For a moment, Tarble thought he was going to refuse him. Deny his access to their technician and send him away.

Finally, he said, "You will wait at my house until the Technician can decide if you are a danger or not. Follow me. And, Saiyan, should you choose to harm any of our people while you are here, the Technician will never fix your ship and you will be marooned on this planet for the rest of your life. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Tarble nodded.


	4. The Young Rebel

It was a new moon. That was good. New moons were good. Full moons were awful. But the new moon wasn't even there. That was good.

But aside from the big an obvious reason, the new moon was a dark moon, that meant that it was a dark night. The perfect kind of night for a hit and fade mission.

As far as security went, the compound was exceedingly well guarded for a heavy assault by ki-powerful enemies. But from a small force of individuals with average human auras -or suppressed auras- it was shamefully vulnerable. That was one of the Saiyans great failings. They did not respect weak or low battle auras and ki. They could not conceive of the idea that something as weak and pathetic as a human could actually pose enough of a threat as to merit some version of a defense. Their scouters detected strong ki, but were blind to all else that moved.

It was that very flaw that Videl Satan planned to exploit.

This was not the first mission she had lead for their small group of 'freedom fighters', but it was the first mission that she had planned herself. Chosen the target. Decided on the date and time of the strike. Planned the diversion and main objectives. Assigned team members to their tasks. This was not the first mission she'd lead, but this was the first mission that was all her own.

The compound was a storage and holding facility for the resources the Saiyans farmed from Earth. Ore, wood, stone, precious metals, and food. Most importantly the food. Like every army marched on its stomach, the Saiyans could be almost crippled if they were hungry. One Saiyan, alone and on an empty stomach, could be taken down by a normal human -provided said human was young and in fit physical condition, knew the vital places to hit, and didn't hesitate. The mission objective was two-fold.

One: Steal food stores from storage warehouses.

Two: Bring food back to base to feed own troops.

In Videl's mind it seemed like the perfect plan. Hurt the occupying Saiyan forces while supporting her own. Simple. Efficient. Ever so slightly poetic.

"Team one, in position." She whispered into the radio clipped on her vest, just above the collar bone.

"Team two, ready." The voice of Kuririn crackled in her ear.

Who would have thought, the daughter of Hercule Satan would be working in tandem with people like him? Videl remembered when she was a little girl and daddy would show her old telecasts of the Strongest Under the Heavens tournaments. He would point out all their light tricks and explain how they were done. Jackie Chun and Son Goku's 'Kamehameha' waves were really just someone off to the side shining a flashlight on a mirror at the right angle at the right time. The damage from the 'attacks' were made by tiny concealed explosives in the stage. Up to the day -and possibly a little bit after- the Saiyans arrived, Videl believed every word her father told her. People couldn't do the amazing things they appeared to do in the Strongest Under the Heavens tournaments.

Now she knew better. Now everyone knew better.

And now Videl knew how to do some of those things herself.

Not very much, mind you. She was nowhere near on the same level as heavy hitters like Eighteen and her brother, or Tenshinhan. But she could definitely put up a good fight against Kuririn or Yamcha before she was smacked back down.

"Team two, go!" She hissed into the radio.

Team two was their distraction. A two man team consisting of Seventeen, and Kuririn. Their objective wasn't to cause any permanent damage to the Saiyans or the compound -although, if they did manage to do that, that was an added bonus. Their part of the mission was to grab the Saiyans' attention, drawing them away from Videl and her larger team. Saiyans always seemed to expect attack from powerful enemies. While they were flying around and shooting at Kuririn and his brother-in-law, Videl could sneak into the warehouses and grab as much as her team could capsulize in the time they had.

Videl heard him gulp loudly with nerves before replying, "Roger that."

The radio went silent.

A few moments later, an explosion illuminated the night sky on the opposite side of the compound. That must have been Seventeen, he never could seem to pass-up an opportunity to blow something up. Sometimes Videl -and others- wondered if the Saiyans had never occupied Earth, if he may not have been the great and terribly enemy instead. But he worked well enough with the rest of their rag-tag group. After all, they were all unified by two great unifying facts. One, they were all natives of Earth, and two, they wanted to rid their planet of the Saiyan encroachers. Of course, things got tense between them all every now and again. Pilaf was particularly annoying at times, but they managed to work together well enough on missions.

"Alright, people, lets move."

Videl slunk out from under their cover and darted to the nearest building, using the shadow cast by is side to conceal herself while she double checked to make sure the coast was indeed clear. When she was sure it was safe, she waves a hand signal at her team and darted to the next building. They repeated this for four building's until they finally reached the warehouse that held the food stores.

It was locked.

Alien tech. Not original Saiyan design, something they had gained from another race and another planet they conquered.

"Mai, you're up."

Originally one of the Emperor Pilaf's henchmen back before the Saiyan occupation, Mai was a master of firearms, guns and ammunition. When the Saiyans invaded and she quickly learned that her precious guns would do her little good, she adapted. Becoming, instead, an expert on the aliens' technology. She couldn't design anything new. She was neither that creative, nor possessed the higher-level knowledge of mechanics, engineering, and physics necessary to make something new. But she could dismantle it, put it back together, use it in a fight to the best of its abilities, and decode locks.

"Got it." The alien lock flashed a green light and the warehouse door slid open automatically.

"Alright." Videl nodded. "We don't have much time left. Kuririn's probably already turned tail and run by now and Seventeen won't stay entertained forever. Capsulize what you can and get out! You all know the rendezvous point if we get separated."

"Diablo Desert." Sharpner nodded.

The rest of the team, Mai, Eresa, Angela, and Lime all nodded in kind. They knew the rendezvous point. Back-up would be waiting for them there. If they could make it out and get to the desert, the rest of their escape would be covered and they'd be safe. But if they made it out but couldn't make it to the desert, or worse, couldn't get out at all, they were on their own. They couldn't risk their fighters trained in ki-techniques to rescue noncombatants. 'No man left behind' was a very nice idea, but in real-world application, it just wasn't practical.

The six of them spread out. Each taking out cases filled with empty capsules, they set about compressing and capsulizing the food stores to be carried out of the warehouse.

All the while, Videl kept her ears piqued, listening for any decline in the commotion outside to indicate that the distraction was over and their time was up. Seventeen was strong and Kuririn was creative, but their mission wasn't to defeat the Saiyan guards, just distract them. The moment the fight began to look like it wasn't going their way, they were supposed to pull out, and get out fast. Fighters trained in ki-techniques were to rare and valuable to risk being lost in a raid mission. Maybe after Muten Roshi trained up some more fighters, they might be able to take more risks for higher gains. But as it was now, their little freedom fighters group was really not much more than glorified anarchists.

"I'm all full." Eresa announced.

"Me too." Lime echoed.

Videl nodded. "Mai, double check Lime's capsules for her." -Because Lime was a compulsive liar. Not that Videl believed she would lie in the middle of a mission, but it was best to be safe rather than sorry. "Eresa, head on out. Get to the rendezvous point as fast as you can."

"Right." The blond nodded before dashing out of the warehouse, darting from building to building, keeping to the shadows for cover as they'd done on their way in.

"We're all good here." Mai announced, handing Lime's capsule case back to her. She looked peeved by the fact that their team leader didn't trust her enough to shove a few crates of wheat-flour into capsules, but said nothing.

"Lime, follow Eresa. Get to the rendezvous. Don't look back."

Sharpner was the next one to fill all his capsules. Then Videl. Mai was the last. Videl sent Sharpner ahead like she did Eresa and Lime, but she stayed behind to make sure Mai would get out okay.

"Lets get going."

Mai nodded, closing her capsule case and stowing it in an inside pocket of her long trench coat. They darted out of the warehouse, keeping to the shadows, pausing at every other building or structure large enough to hide them to double check their path and make sure the coast was clear.

"You shouldn't wait for me." Mai commented in a voice barely above a whisper. "If I'm caught and killed its no big loss. But you're a fighter. If you're caught and killed we lose someone of value."

Videl would have shaken her head in disagreement if she weren't preoccupied peering around the corner, measuring the distance between them and the hole they'd cut in the perimeter fence on their way in. "I'm not all that valuable yet. All I can do is fly. I can't even form a complete Kamehameha yet."

If Mai was going to reply to that, her statement was cut off before it could reach her lips as Videl's radio crackled back to life. Kuririn's voice, breathless and terrified, but still very much alive. "That's it! Seventeen and I are pulling out. Hope you guys are clear!"

They weren't. But they would be soon.

"Time to go." Videl hissed. She grabbed Mai by the arm, dragging the older woman behind her as they made their last mad-dash off the compound's campus.

They got to the fence and through it without incident. The light from Kuririn and Seventeen's diversion was just fading and the climbing darkness helped cover their retreat. But they couldn't relay on the darkness for long. Soon the Saiyans would realize that the attack was just a distraction and that their attackers were just covering for another purpose. Once they realized that, it was only a matter of time before they reset their scouters to search for movement, or human body temperatures, or heartbeats, or something like that. Eventually, they would have half a dozen angry alien warriors on their collective asses.

Videl and Mai made it to the mushroom trees where they paused briefly. Taking advantage of the cover to catch their breath and check the skies for pursuit.

A soft noise, like someone trying to suppress a sob cut through the night air and Videl snapped to a defensive stance. Scanning the space between the mushroom trees for any sign of their company.

"It came from over here." Mai whispered, inching her way towards where she thought she heard the sound come from.

"Be carful." Videl hissed.

Mai reached inside her trench coat and withdrew a small five-shot revolver. Not that the gun would do much good against a Saiyan -if that's what their company indeed turned out to be- but it made her feel safer, more confident. The weight of a gun in your hand was better than any security blanket. Leaning around the trunk of a large mushroom tree, the revolver in front of her, Mai paused. Taking stock of what she saw. Then softly hissed back to Videl, "Its Angela. She looks like she's hurt!"

Videl rushed over to find that it was, indeed, her red-headed former classmate. "What happened?"

"Its so stupid." Angela sobbed. "I was so focused on getting away, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and tripped. I got to cover, though." She suppressed another choking sob and looked up at Videl and Mai. "You should go. I'm dead weight now."

Mai looked away. She wasn't going to say it out loud, but it was true. There was no way all three of them could get away if they had to carry Angela with them. If they tried to take her with them, all three of them would die. If they left her, only one of them would die. …And Videl was a valuable assets, they could not risk losing her to save Angela. Fighters were rare and precious. Normal people were a dime a dozen. It was a question of the needs of the many versus the needs of the few.

"Give your capsules and anything else that might weigh you down to Mai." Videl ordered.

Soberly, Angela nodded and passed her capsule case, a flashlight, and a knife over to the older woman. She looked back to Videl, thinking they were going to leave her behind. That was their group's official policy. It wasn't written down or anything. But everyone knew when they joined up what they were in for. Normal people were of no value against the Saiyans. They were perfect for theft and spy missions. But if one of them was caught, no rescue would come. They could not risk losing one of their ki-fighters to the Saiyans. They needed all the ki-fighters they had. Videl would leave her because Videl was a ki-fighter-in-training and that was what she had to do.

"Mai, get going." Videl ordered. She then looked back at Angela.

The red-head flashed her a bleak but shaky smile. "I'm… a little afraid to die."

"I won't let that happen." Videl bent down, grabbing Angela by the wrist, she pulled the other woman to her feet, noting that her ankle was at an odd angle, and tried to lift her up onto her back. "If I were to fly us, their scouters would pick up my ki instantly. Sorry, Angie, but its gonna be a bumpy ride. Do you feel up for it?"

"Videl, you really shouldn't…"

"I'll take that as a 'yes'."

They were off. It was a slow sprint. The sand giving way under Videl's feet made running in the desert difficult at any time, but carrying the added weight of an extra person made it all the worse. The two women were almost at the next stand of mushroom trees when Angela suddenly shouted, "Look up in the sky!"

Videl didn't have to look. Through her training with Muten Roshi and Kuririn she learned to sense ki and was already aware of the three Saiyans pursuing them. But at Angela's shout, one of them decided to give up all pretense of stealth and fired a wave of ki at them.

No sense in being subtle now.

Channeling her ki as she'd been taught, Videl leapt into the air, forgetting her slow running in favor of the much faster flight. It was still slow goings with Angela's added weight and the other woman threw off her balance. But Videl still managed to dodge the blasts from her pursuers. She didn't look back. Didn't try to engage them. Not only could she not do that with Angela on her back, but Videl knew that by herself she didn't stand a chance. She was skilled, but she lacked the raw power necessary to take on more than one Saiyan at a time. Their best chance was to get to the rendezvous point where help would be waiting.

Two more Saiyans joined the pursuit. Then a six. The full half-dozen guards from the compound were on them now.

Videl bit the inside of her cheek with nerves. She kept her eyes focused on the horizon. Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't slow down. Don't try and fight. Just keep flying.

Then, one of the Saiyans' ki blasts connected.

Angela's weight slowed her down and threw them both off balance. Videl sensed the blast coming but couldn't react fast enough to dodge it completely. It grazed her side, burning strait through her vest and the t-shirt she wore under it and singed her flesh. The shock of being hit and the pain of the energy burn caused her to tumble in the air, Angela falling from her back and hitting the sand with a very unpleasant sounding thump.

Videl righted herself in the air. Glanced quickly down to her red-haired former classmate before flashing her attention back to the Saiyans. Angela wasn't moving. The Saiyans were bearing down close. Quickly, very quickly, Videl darted down to check on Angela. She wasn't moving, but when Videl placed two fingers to the side of her throat she could detect a faint pulse. Faint. Between her previous injury and the fall she wasn't doing to well.

The six Saiyans landed in a circle around her. Surrounding her. Videl was trapped. Damn.

Maybe Mai and Angela were right. They should have just left her. But… wasn't that what Saiyans did? Cast off those they deemed too weak to be useful? What was the point of resisting them and fighting their occupation of Earth if they became just as bad as what they were fighting against? The boss said moral questions like that should be left to philosophers. They could debate it to their hearts' content once the Saiyans were gone and Earth was safe, but until then, it was 'by any means necessary'. Sometimes, it was necessary to leave your own behind.

Videl pulled Angela to her. She didn't agree with that. She wanted to rid her world of the repugnant Saiyans just as much as everyone else did. But not at the cost of her own humanity.

Holding her friend, she glared up at the six alien warriors, raising her chin in defiance. They might kill her, but she would not go down cowering in fear. She would look her killers in the eyes.

In her arms, Angela stirred, coming back to consciousness. Her eyes, bleary and unfocused opened and closed, looking at the Saiyans around them but not really seeing them. Videl rubbed her shoulders and upper arms. She wasn't sure if she was giving the other woman comfort or if she was already so far gone that she didn't even realize they were in trouble and about to die. But it made Videl feel better. At least this way neither of them would be traveling to the next world alone. Then Angela's eyes snapped open for real, as if waking up from a nightmare and finding herself in a different -worse- reality.

"No!" She pushed Videl down just in time for the first attempted kill shot to miss. Angela rolled off her and went for the nearest Saiyans legs. Wrapping both arms around his shin, she sank her teeth into his calf -or at least tried to. Her flat human teeth were unable to penetrate his skin, but she still managed to annoy him enough to give Videl an opening. "Go! Videl, fly!"

She hesitated. Videl knew she shouldn't. Angela was to far gone. Between her original injury, her fall when Videl dropped her, and then the burn on her back from pushing Videl out of the way of that ki blast. Even if she did manage to bring her back to base, there would be no way to heal her. Their medical supplies weren't very well stocked, their MASH tent not well equipped. Either die by the Saiyans now making sure Videl got away, or die of her injuries later -or both of them die together. Those were their options. Angela chose to go down fighting. Videl should honor that by not wasting her sacrifice.

"I'm sorry." She muttered, and leapt into the air.

Five of the Saiyans followed her with the one Angela was still latched onto staying behind to deal with her.

Videl felt the familiar pressure of tears building behind her eyes but she blinked them away. She would not cry until she got back to the base. The rendezvous point wasn't to far now. She could see the marker now. Just a little further. Just a little more… come one…

Her Saiyan pursuers continued to shoot blast after blast of ki at her. But with out the handicap of carrying Angela, Videl could dodge them much more easily now. That combined with the fact that they were all flying so much faster than before made her a harder target to hit.

Almost there…

There!

Videl passed the marker and gave the signal that she had arrived. One quick, shrill whistle followed by four beats on the sand in quick succession.

The Saiyans continued to bear down of her. But she wasn't afraid of them now. Now she had back-up. Powerful back-up, trained in ki-techniques, with far more skill, experience, and mastery than she herself had yet achieved.

The first Saiyan was caught completely off guard. Tenshinhan burst up out of his concealed foxhole and got off one quick Dodonpa that pierced the Saiyan's armor and went out through his back. The other four paused, tapping their scouters now. Searching for more concealed fighters. Eighteen burst out of her foxhole, taking out another. Then Kuririn and Seventeen reappeared, the largest of their wounds from the mission hastily patched, they looked grim but ready to continue the fight. Mai and Shu, piloting two older model Capsule Corp mobile suits lumbered up behind them.

The two remaining Saiyans were quickly beginning to realize that maybe they were outnumbered.

"You shouldn't have come here…" A long haired silhouette walked out from between Mai and Shu's mobile suits. "Don't you know about Diablo Desert? …Here there be bandits! Eat my Fist of the Wolf Fang, Saiyan scum!"

And everyone launched their attacks together.

"Fist of the Wolf Fang!"

"Tri-Beam!"

"Kienzan!"

"Photon Blitz!"

"Kiai!"

And all that was left of the Saiyans was falling dust.

…

Dragon Rock was not actually a rock. It was actually an area of labyrinthine razor sharp rocks located at Mount Paozu not far from the Diablo Desert. It was there that their rag-tag group of freedom fighters hid their base.

And it was there, down one of the narrow corridors between cliffs that they kept their Memorial Wall. It wasn't much really. Just a semi-smooth cliff-face in which they carved the names of their dead. All those who had given their lives since the Saiyans first arrived almost a decade ago. Most of the names were of people Videl had never met, only heard about from the older members of their group.

Nam, died defending his village from the Saiyans.

Android 8 "Eighter", died defending Jingle Village from the Saiyans.

Suno, died defending Eighter from the Saiyans. She was not a fighter.

Upa, died defending Korin's Sanctuary and Korin's Tower from the Saiyans.

Bora, died defending Korin's Sanctuary and Korin's Tower from the Saiyans.

Android 16, died protecting a forest from the Saiyans ravaging.

Yajirobi, died helping Korin escape the Saiyans.

Demon King Piccolo, vanished -presumed dead.

Kami-sama, vanished -presumed dead.

Dr. Briefs, died attempting to prevent the Saiyans taking his daughter.

Bunny Briefs, died attempting to prevent the Saiyans taking her daughter.

Bulma Briefs, taken from Earth -presumed dead.

Gyumao, the Ox King, died attempting to stop the Saiyans taking his daughter and grandson.

Son Chichi, taken from Earth -presumed dead.

Son Gohan, The First hansaiya, taken from Earth -presumed dead. He was eleven years old.

She always paused at that one. Son Gohan, age eleven. It seemed so sad. Admittedly, everything about the Saiyan invasion and occupation was sad. The list of their fallen comrades should have been longer, but there were lots not mentioned on the wall just because no one had the chance to learn their names before they died. Unless they wanted to have a wall full of 'Unnamed Fighter A, B, and C' or 'Old Opponent from the Strongest Under the Heavens Tournament who's name Kuririn, Yamcha, and Roshi all forgot.' Something about that just didn't sit well.

At the top of the list, scratched in deep and bold into the rock, in a slightly larger script than all the other names was 'Son Goku, an Earthling.'

The others all talked about Son Goku so reverently, almost like he was some sort of messiah. Even Pilaf, whom had been his enemy, spoke admiringly of the late departed warrior. Videl knew that Goku was originally a Saiyan, but had chosen to forsake his barbarous heritage and live a normal Earthling life with his family. She also knew he had been killed for it. They all saw the propaganda posters. An image of a broken and bloodied man strung by his arms between two large pillars with an alien castle and sky in the background. His bright orange dogi dirty and ripped, practically hanging off his lifeless body. Only one word was printed on the posters. Translated into all the major languages of Earth and posted in public meeting places.

'Earthling'

The image of a defeated and dead man with the word 'Earthling'. That was how the posters were meant to read. Earth was a defeated planet. Death was the only thing waiting for those that opposed their new Saiyan masters.

Oolong got a hold of a couple of the posters and put them up in the base's common area. Crossing out the word 'Earthling' on both and writing in instead, 'Sacrifice' and 'Remember'.

Son Goku was used in propaganda because he had been one of the Saiyans own but had defected to Earth. Turned his back on his father-people and chose to live as something they viewed as a lesser creature. So, they used him as a message to the rest of the lesser creatures of Earth.

The older members of the resistance spoke of Son Goku reverently because he had made an impression on them, was an influential part of their lives. Someone worthy of remembering even if he hadn't died a horrifying death far from home at the hands of a barbarous people.

But everyone else… everyone else just got a name on a wall.

Channeling her ki into her index finger, Videl scratched Angela's name. A small memorial to her red-haired former classmate whom had given her life so VIdel could get to the rendezvous point.

Angela, died so that Videl Satan could live.

That done, Videl navigated back through the labyrinth-like corridors of Dragon Rock to find the entrance to the base. She still had a debriefing to get too. By now they should be done taking inventory of everything they'd stolen from the Saiyans. She had to give her report.

As she was passing the room given to the witch Baba, Videl thought she heard an unfamiliar voice talking. It was speaking to low for her to discern what he was saying, but the voice was definitely male, not Baba then. Closing her eyes, Videl focused her senses, using the techniques the others taught her to sense the ki -if he had any- of the person in Baba's room. What she felt was odd. It was a fairly strong ki. On par with the Saiyans, even! But dark. Angry. Hateful. Vengeful. She found herself wanting to pull away almost the moment her senses brushed up against him.

'Its rude to eavesdrop.' A voice growled inside her head, placing the words in her mind without bothering the pass through the formality of her ears. Then his ki pulled away, fading into the backdrop of the base. 'Be seeing you.'

Concerned over Baba's safety and maybe slightly curious of the dark stranger, Videl opened Baba's door without knocking. She wanted to check on her and make sure the old witch was okay, and also find out who Baba's mysterious visitor was. She had never sensed his ki before and Videl was fairly certain that she did not like it.

"Baba, it's me, Videl." She said, stepping into the room. "I heard voices and just wanted too…"

She trailed off.

The old woman sat on her crystal ball, smiling plaintively, her hands clasped in front of her. Behind her, the fabric of a wall hanging shifted from recent movement and footsteps could be heard disappearing down another corridor. Whoever the man had been, he was already gone. Probably leaving the moment Videl sensed him. She returned her attention to the old woman. Baba looked alright. Nothing amiss aside from the plaintive smile and guilty air.

"Just conferring with a colleague, dear." She explained.

"A colleague?" Videl echoed.

"Yes, another Seer. He had some interesting things to share." The old witch nodded. "Now then, it looks like we're both late for the meeting. Shall we go?"

When Videl first signed up with the resistance, she had expected their leader to be one of the seasoned fighters, one of the ones trained in ki-techniques like Kuririn, Yamcha, or Tenshinhan. Or else Master Roshi since he was so old and -presumably- wise. Or, perhaps Seventeen and Eighteen shared leadership since they were so strong. But it was none of them. The leader of their rag tag group of freedom fighters was none of the obvious choices. After some carful thought, Videl recognized the wisdom in this. If their leader was not an obvious choice, then their leader was not an obvious target. Saiyans couldn't kill what they couldn't find.

Lunch stood rather than sat at the head of the conference table.

She was brunette tonight. That meant she would be much easier to talk to and no one had to worry about her pulling out a gun and capping them all. But it also meant that this meeting would be filled with unnecessary inanities and gratuitous politeness.

Lunch smiled a friendly and welcoming smile. As if this were a tea party and not a war council. "Now that everyone's here, lets get started."

Korin began. The sagely old cat shifting in his seat, looking over a hastily written inventory. "Videl and her team managed to bring back twenty six capsules, each filled with approximately one hundred crates of food staples. Wheat four, rice, corn, potatoes and sugar. The accumulated food stores will feed the whole group for roughly a year -assuming they're stored properly and don't spoil. As far as the damage this loss does to the Saiyan encroachers, the food stuffs were enough to feed one platoon for approximately one week."

Beside the sagely old cat, Oolong scoffed. "That's not very much. One platoon, that's like, what? Eight guys?"

"Its still something." Lunch reminded him, then nodded to Videl. "You did good, Videl-chan. I understand you lost one of your people. I'm sorry. Would you like us to hold a ceremony for her?"

It was a tempting offer. Videl was the one who brought Angela into this. She was the one who brought all of her classmates into this, Angela, Sharpner, and Eresa. They were all here because of her. But, a memorial took time and effort and those were two things that could be better spent. "No, thank you." She shook her head. "I already added her name to the Wall."

"If that's what you want." Lunch nodded, and because she was the brunette at the moment Videl believed that she truly did sympathize with her loss. There was a prolonged pause that might have been an unannounced moment of silence.

Then Kuririn broke the silence, standing on his chair and placing both hands on the conference table, saying very politely, "I have an issue I'd like to address." Then quickly turning angry and indignant, "What the hell was Eighteen doing at the rendezvous point!? I thought we agreed that whenever I'm on a mission, she stays at base, whenever she's on a mission I stay at base. We have a daughter! What's gonna happen if both Eighteen and I are killed?"

Sitting next to him, Eighteen put a hand to the side of her head, annoyed with her husband. "Sit down, Kuririn."

"Sorry, sweetheart, but there are things I worry about. And you should be worried too! Who's gonna take care of Marron if we're gone? Your brother? I wouldn't trust him with a houseplant, let alone my little girl!"

Eighteen flashed him a threatening glare with her frost-colored eyes but said nothing more. The look was all it took, though. Kuririn quickly quieted down and reclaimed his seat next to his wife.

"I am sorry, Kuririn." Lunch apologized. "Sending Eighteen with the others was my decision. I understand your concerns, but Eighteen is one of our strongest fighters and we are short on strong warriors. If we had more of her caliber, this would't be an issue. But, as it is…"

She trailed off.

Videl looked down at her hands. If only she were farther along in her own training. She was still just discovering her own ki. She had mastered the basics of flying. She still couldn't get up to the ungodly speeds she witness some of the others achieve, but she was improving every day. Master Roshi was working with her to teach her the Kamehameha, but it was difficult to learn from a man who was constantly trying to feel your ass every five minuets. More often than not, their training sessions degraded into her just pummeling the old man into the sand for not being able to control his wandering hands.

"I might have a solution to our fighters problem." Baba announced.

All eyes in the room turned to her.

"About time your remembered your special ability!" Roshi commented, casting a sideways glance at his sister from behind his shades. "You can bring fighters back from the other world! You can bring Goku back like you did his Grandpa that one time!"

The old witch shook her head. "Goku is beyond my reach at the moment. But I was not referring to dead warriors. I have just learned that Gohan-chan is still alive. I can tell you where he is."

"Gohan!" Echoed Kuririn, Korin, Oolong, Roshi and Yamcha. "He's alive!"

"Alive and well." Nodded the All Seeing Witch.

Gohan? Son Gohan? The name mentioned on the Wall? Whom had been taken from Earth when he was only eleven. Videl thought about that for a moment. He, his father, and his mother had all be taken by the Saiyans in the early days. His father had been publicly executed. Nobody knows what happened to his mother. But what was Gohan doing these past eight years? Had he somehow escaped his parents' killers and fled somewhere safe to plan his revenge? Or… had his Saiyan captors kept him. Raised him. Molding him into something that could serve them and their own ends… It was a far fetched thought. The standing Saiyan policy on hansaiya was to kill them at birth -or even in the womb- and Gohan was not just a hansaiya, he was The First hansaiya. They wouldn't leave him alive intentionally. Unless…

He was also the son of Son Goku, the hero of Earth and the hero of their little rebellion. Could they have kept Gohan to use against his home planet?

Videl was wary. She didn't easily trust anything with Saiyan blood.

"But, why haven't you told us about this before!?" Oolong demanded.

"I wasn't sure he was alive before." She answered primly. "He was being shielded by another Seer. My Sight could not find him. Now that veiled has been lifted."

Another Seer? Baba's mysterious colleague from earlier? That angry, hatful, vengeful aura. He was the one hiding Son Gohan? But why? And more importantly, why was he lifting that shield now. Giving Baba free license to tell them where Gohan was and send the others to go fetch him -as Videl assumed was the ultimate purpose of this announcement. Something was off about this.

"Well, where is he!?" Demanded Kuririn. "Lets go get him right now! Me and Yamcha. He should remember us! Just tell me where I'm going."

Before Baba could answer, Videl cut in with the question she felt needed to be asked, "Why is that other Seer only just now letting us know about Son Gohan?"

There was a beat of silence as everyone else in the room quickly sobered up and realized just how suspicious this sounded. It was too good to be true. Almost like a trap. They should have noticed it right away, but they let their feelings for Goku and their relief at hearing that his son was alive override their logic and critical thinking.

"Gohan was only a child when he was taken from us and his father killed." Baba explained. "He could not return to Earth because of the strong Saiyan presence here. They would have killed him outright. So, the Seer took him somewhere else. Somewhere safe where he could grow up and be properly trained, properly… tempered. Now he's a man and the Seer thinks he's ready to rejoin the world."

"Who is this other Seer?" Asked Korin. He knew of no other powerful Seer besides Baba and he was usually in a position to know such things.

Baba paused only long enough to choose her answer carefully. "He is an enemy of House Vegeta. And the enemy of our enemy is our ally."

There was another sober silence as everyone considered that answer. An enemy of House Vegeta, the ruling House of the Saiyan monarchy. The Seer protecting Gohan was an enemy of the Saiyan monarchy, the ultimate enemy of Earth. That meant, so long as they could be useful to this Seer, he was on their side. Videl thought about his dark aura. All his anger and hate… and that ki. A strong ki. Similar to a Saiyan's ki. Then it hit her.

"The other Seer's a Saiyan!"

All eyes snapped to her.

Baba hesitated only a moment, then nodded.

Videl found herself suppressing a snarl. "I won't trust anything that comes from a Saiyan. What if this Gohan person is on their side? What if he doesn't even exist at all and its a trap?"

"Have you forgotten who I am?" Baba snapped at the girl. "I am the All Seeing Witch, Baba! Don't think I didn't double check everything he said myself once the veil was lifted. Gohan, and his mother, and his little brother. They are all alive. Alive and well. And strong!"

"Little brother?" Kuririn blinked.

"Yes. Goku's second son. Chichi was only just pregnant with him when Goku was killed." Baba explained. "And I can tell you this as well. Gohan is not alone. Demon King Jr. is also alive and with him!"

"Piccolo!" Yamcha exclaimed. "But if Piccolo's alive that means that Kami must also still be alive somewhere. But… the Dragon Balls…"

Ah yes. That was another bit of lore the older ones like to talk about. Their fabled Dragon Balls. Seven mysterious spheres, each about the size of a softball. Collect all seven and you can summon a magical dragon that will grant you one wish. Any wish. The obvious wish was to rid the world of the hateful Saiyans. They also talked about maybe bringing Goku back to life to defeat the Saiyans for them. But neither of those things were possible. Because the Dragon Ball had turned to stone and were useless. That was why everyone assumed Kami was dead. The Dragon Balls were tied to his life-force. But the Demon King Piccolo was said to also be tied to Kami, so if he was alive, then Kami must still be alive too! But… the Dragon Balls…

"Its worth a try." Lunch said, finally breaking the silence. "After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained. We'll only send two. Kuririn and Yamcha. Where will they be going."

"To another planet." Baba supplied. "To Namek, the original home world of Earth's Kami. You'll need a ship. That will have to be the next mission -to steal a spaceship." A pause. Then Baba continued before they could properly process the fact that two of them would have to be launched into outer space, "And I have more news for you all. King Vegeta is dead."

"Eh!" Everyone gapped at her.

"I believe that is why my colleague lifted his veil over Gohan." She explained. "The old King is dead and the next King is new and inexperienced. The monarchy will be weak while it adjusts to the change."

"So the time to strike is now!" Yamcha rose to his feet, balling one hand into a fist.

"Idiot." Oolong muttered from the opposite side of the table. "What are we gonna strike with? The only heavy hitters we've got are Eighteen and her psychotic brother -no offense."

"That's why we need Gohan!" Kuririn insisted.

Videl looked down at her hands. The old King was dead. Now was the perfect time for a serious strike against the occupying Saiyan forces. Drive them off their planet now while the monarchy was preoccupied adjusting to the new King. While the monarchy was unstable. Unable to reenforce or support their forces on foreign soil. Now was the perfect time. But they just didn't have the fighters necessary for such a strike. Maybe they should go and get this Son Gohan, son of Son Goku. If he was as powerful as Baba made him out to be. And this Piccolo too. The Demon King… If they were as strong as Seventeen and Eighteen -or even stronger!- they would certainly be invaluable.

But… the source of this information was a Saiyan, and Videl just didn't trust Saiyans. Saiyans were what they were fighting against, fighting to rid their world of. How could any one in their group trust anything a Saiyan said? Videl balled her hands into fists. Kuririn and Yamcha would go get this Son Gohan and bring him back. There was nothing she could do about that, she didn't have any version of seniority in their group. She was only at this meeting now because she was a team leader. So, -assuming it wasn't a trap- Son Gohan would join them. But Videl wouldn't trust him. She would never turn her back on him. She would redouble her own training so that she could defend herself if he did, indeed, turn out to be a Saiyan operative. Defend herself, and maybe protect the rest of her team.


	5. The Technician

If the Namekians had a word for 'Mad Scientist' they would have applied it to Bulma Briefs.

Her bedroom in the house she shared with Chichi was 'bedroom' in name only. There was a small mattress shoved into one corner where she could crash in-between wrangling her high-energy and difficult to deal with eight-year-old son and his best friend and functional brother, Goten. Or when she needed a nap in between brilliant projects. And she was quite brilliant. The Namekians were paradoxical when it came to their technology. They had achieved space travel -though, rarely ever used it- but had no running water or indoor-plumbing. When Bulma first arrived on Namek, seeking Chichi and Gohan -as Bardock told her to do- she was appalled to find them living in such a state!

That just would not do!

Bulma Briefs did not live anywhere that did not have indoor-plumbing.

So, she set to work designing a water-pump and well system. She dug a well beside the house -and buy 'she dug' we of course mean she made Bardock do it, also made him build a well house over it to protect it from the elements-, set up a series of filters to clean out any parasites, microbes, or impurities in the alien water that might harm humans. The kids she didn't worry so much about, their Saiyan blood protected them from most minor impurities that might give a normal human problems. Once the water was filtered, it gathered in a pressured tank. Then she made Bardock tear out all the walls he'd built and put in a series of pipping to pump the water to the kitchen and bathrooms. Thus, indoor-plumbing.

Bulma was pretty sure Bardock hated her by that point.

That done, her next big project was a water-heater so she could take hot baths without having to first spend hours boiling the water.

Then came the electricity. Bulma absolutely had to have electricity! It was a staple necessity for almost all of her other improvements she intended to make in the house, or experiments she might want to run in the future. It was not necessary for lighting. At least one sun was in the sky at all times on Namek, so to light a room, all anyone had to do was open a window, let in some natural light. But the electricity was used for other improvements and necessities of living, like converting Chichi's wood-burning stove into an electric stove. That shaved lots of prep-time off of meals, which made living with three half-Saiyan boys and one full Saiyan man much, much easier. Which, in turn, also made Chichi much, much easier to live with as well.

All these improvements took her almost the full eight years -that's Terran years- she'd lived on Namek thus far to complete. But now they were living in conditions that she deemed 'acceptable'. Her next big project would have been centralized heating and cooling. But that would involve putting the doors back up and she had already reused those materials for other things. Not to mention, it wasn't very Namekian to have a door that actually closed. Bulma didn't want to accidentally offend her water-brothers.

So, she was sitting at her work table, thinking of hilarious physics jokes that no one on the planet but her would get, when Chichi knocked on her door. Her room was the only room within the house that had a solid door rather than just a privacy curtain -for safety reasons.

Opening the door a crack and poking her head inside, she asked, "Anything volatile in here?"

"Nope. C'mon in." Bulma stood up. Chichi almost never came into her bedroom-lab. She wondered if the younger woman was a little intimidated by it. She loved that Bulma was teaching Gohan about math, mechanics, chemistry, and physics. But Chichi herself had only a very basic and very vague knowledge of those same subjects.

Chichi slipped into the room, looking tense and nervous. "One of our brothers from the village is here. He says there's a Saiyan looking for you."

For a moment, Bulma didn't quite register what the younger woman just said. When she did, a tight knot of nerves formed in her stomach. A Saiyan. Looking for her. Vegeta? Her Vegeta? Had he run away after all? Did he come looking for her and their son? How did he even find them!? Or… had he changed his mind about them and come, not to be with them, but instead to finally do what his father wanted him to do eight years ago? That knot of nerves in her stomach rose up to become a lump in the back of her throat. Her hands balled into fists. She might be a weak human. But she would die before she let him -or anyone- harm her baby!

Her nerves and the tightness of her throat making it hard to speak, Bulma croaked, "What does he want?"

"He claims to just want you to fix his ship." Chichi explained. "I don't think he knows that you're not Namekian. Our brother said he referred to you as 'the Technician', not actually by name or description."

Bulma nodded, her earlier nerves being replaced by a different set of concerns. This Saiyan didn't know that she was human, that there were even humans and hansaiya hiding out on Namek. That meant that, for the moment, they were safe. If this Saiyan didn't know she was human, then he probably didn't know that Trunks, Goten, and Gohan were hansaiya. If all he needed was a mechanic to fix his ship, she could do that. Convince him she was the only human living on Namek and that she was all alone. No hansaiya children. Just her. The Saiyan couldn't attack or kill what he didn't even know was there.

To go to this Saiyan willingly would put her in danger, but it would keep her son and the other boys safe. But to refuse the Saiyan -to hide from him- would cause the alien monster to come looking for her. Which would just lead him strait to the kids. She would not let that happen.

"Okay then." She nodded. "I'll go see him."

Bulma picked up a light summer cloak from the floor of her room -in her mid-forties and still kept her room as clean as a teenager's- and draped the cloak over her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her head and down, concealing her face. She might possibly be going to meet her death at the hands of one of the very monsters she spent the past eight years hiding from, but let it never be said that Bulma Briefs let that deter her from indulging in a little dramatic flair. He might kill her, but she still wanted to see the look on his face when she lowered her hood and revealed that she wasn't Namekian.

"We can't hide the fact that there's a Saiya here from the boys, they probably sense his ki already." Bulma said to Chichi as they stepped out of the room together and met-up with their water-brother from the village. He had waited outside Bulma's bedroom-lab while Chichi spoke with her. The Namekians seemed to have an irrational fear of her tinkering. Bulma couldn't understand why. Her experiments only blew-up about fifteen percent of the time and Dende was always on hand to heal those that needed healing afterwards. But that was just one of those things that would never change. She decided not to let it bother her and continued what she was saying. "But, whatever you do, don't let the boys go to the village until he's gone. Gohan's usually really helpful with the kids, but if he decides that he hates pure-Saiyans and wants revenge for Son-kun, then you might need to call Piccolo in to help you control him."

"I know how to handle my own children." Chichi clipped primly.

"I know. Sorry." Bulma apologized. "I guess I'm just a little nervous."

"I understand." All was forgiven. "Come home safe and we'll share water together -without the kids. You almost never come out of that lab of yours. Honestly, you and that room is starting to feel a bit like Goku and his training used to."

"Alright." Bulma nodded. "We'll have an 'us day'. Just you and me and no kids."

Bulma followed their water-brother down into the village. He lead her to the house of the village elder, which she found interesting. He was cautious enough not to direct the Saiyan to her front door, but still trusted the monster enough to wait in his own home. Perhaps he sensed something in the Saiyan that prompted him to trust? Bulma had no talent or ability to sense ki, or aura, or whatever it was that allowed Gohan to know when the boys were awake before they started raising hell, or when Piccolo was coming seconds before he materialized outside their doorway. Son-kun used to talk about 'evil ki' and 'pure ki' and how you could sense the difference and that he was always willing to trust someone without an evil aura even if they claimed to be his enemy at the time. Maybe it was something similar that the elder sensed -or didn't sense- in this Saiyan.

A not-evil Saiyan…

They did exist!

Son-kun had been a not-evil Saiyan. And Vegeta, well… he was a work in progress when they parted ways. Who knows which direction his aura aligns today?

Bulma paused just inside the doorway of the elder's house. Her petite silhouette, lengthened by the light from outside, stretched over the wall beside him. His back was to her, giving Bulma an extra moment to study him.

He was short. Even including the hair, Bulma was taller than him. For a moment she wondered if he was a child. Wearing the blue jumpsuit and one-piece breast-plate that was popular among most Saiyans. His tail wrapped firmly around his waist as they were trained to do from infancy to keep the paralyzing weakness out of easy reach.

Then he turned around and Bulma saw he was not a child. Saiyans did not show their ages easily -at least, they did not show their ages to the same degree as humans did. But he was definitely not a child. He was short, but he was a grown man. Idly, Bulma found herself wondering who would be taller in side-by-side comparison, this Saiyan, or Kuririn.

"You are the Namekian technician?" He asked, looking at her skeptically, taking in her cloaked and hooded form. "You're shorter than the other's I've seen. Are you a child?"

"You're shorter than the Saiyans I've seen." Bulma shot back. "Are you a child?"

"Your point is made." He growled. And the question was promptly dropped. That was interesting. If she was going to take her experiences with Vegeta as an example of what the average Saiyan was like, then she would have expected him to become defensive and indignant. Continuing to argue the point ad nausium. But, instead he dropped it. Not very Saiyan-like. Not very Saiyan-like at all. "My ship is damaged and I need someone to fix it. I'm told you can do this for me. Its a standard one-man drop-pod with only a single hyperdrive cylinder. My cylinder is cracked and needs to be replaced. Can you do this?"

Bulma mulled that question over in her mind. Recalling everything she knew about Saiyan space crafts -which was a great deal. Then taking a mental inventory of the materials she had in her lab. It would be possible. But not easy. And she wouldn't be able to do anything until she knew exactly the kind of hyperdrive his pod had. He said it was a 'standard' pod. But the fact of the matter was that there were three different variations of the 'standard' pod. They all looked the same and were completely indistinguishable from one another when looking at them, but their systems and hardware were dramatically different.

Finally, Bulma answered. "I will need to see your ship."

He cringed just noticeably. "Alright. I'll bring it here right away."

His ship wasn't anywhere near Ighai? However long it took Bulma to fix his pod, he would probably want to stay close to it. That meant that if it wasn't around here, that would lower the chances of him bumping into Trunks, Gohan or Goten. She didn't much like the alternative of him bringing the ship to her, which was bringing her to the ship. It meant that she would be farther away from her home village, her water-brothers, but more importably, the family. If the Saiyan turned on her -which was a real possibility with Saiyans- help would be much slower in reaching her. But, Trunks' and the other's safety was more important to her than her own.

So, Bulma said, "That's not necessary. Let me grab a few things from my lab and you can fly me to your ship."

"That would be much better for me." The Saiyan smiled. Actually smiled! Aside from Son-kun, Bulma had never seen a Saiyan smile before. (Unless Vegeta's goofy post-orgasm smirk counted. Which she decided it did not.)

"I can't guarantee that I can fix it." She reminded him. "But I will see what I can do."

"I understand." And he reached his hand out for her to shake, as if sealing a deal.

Bulma hesitated a moment, staring at his white-gloved hand. Then, she extended her own and they shook briefly.

The Saiyan gapped at her fair-skinned hand for a moment before his eyes darted back up to her hooded face, now studying her more critically. He tapped his scouter. "You are not Namekian."

Well, it looked like the farce was over. Lets see if the shock on his face was worth wearing a cloak in this heat? Bulma lowered her hood and shook out her short aqua hair. "No. I'm not Namekian."

She paused to see if he would ask what she was. There were a surprising amount of alien races in the galaxy, she learned, that resembled humans. As Vegeta had said on their final night together all those years ago, without his tail, Trunks could pass for belonging to any number of races. So, she waited to see if this Saiyan was going to try and guess what she was or demand she tell him. Saiyans were an unexpectedly xenophobic people and didn't seem to feel comfortable around non-Saiyans unless they could be neatly labeled and filed away in their minds. Their strengths, weaknesses and average levels of ki available at the touch of the scouter.

"I suppose that's why you would be the person to ask about non-native technology." He nodded. "You're not from around here either. My ship is a little over an hour's flight to the east. I will wait here for you while you gather whatever it is you might need from your lab."

Wow. A patient Saiyan who was willing to let her out of his sight when he wanted something from her and trust her to come back on her own rather than flee from him. Very unusual. Very unusual, indeed.

Bulma nodded. "I'll try not to take to long." A sardonic smirk. "I know how notoriously short Saiyan patience is."

"You have some experience with Saiyans?"

But Bulma was already back out the door, on her way out of the village and back to the house. She did hear his question, but thought better of answering. Yes. She had experience with Saiyans. Intimate experience. But that was no business of his. And besides, as an escaped slave of Vegeta-sei, it was probably best that he didn't know. After talking to him, Bulma was fairly certain she wouldn't be in any mortal danger. Not even after she fixed his ship and was no longer useful to him. He did have the same cold and merciless… feel as the other Saiyans she'd come into contact with. Perhaps that was her 'ki-sense', underdeveloped as it was. She could trust this Saiyan not to kill her. But she couldn't trust him not to tell others about her after he was gone. So, the less he knew, the better.

Chichi was waiting nervously on the front porch when Bulma returned. She was dressed for gardening and it looked like she had made an attempt to weed the vegetable patch, but when Bulma walked up to the house Chichi was standing with her hands wrong together, her garden gloves abandoned by the porch-side.

"You're back!" She said. "What did he want?"

"I'm not really back." Bulma shook her head, brushing past Chichi and into the house. "I just need to grab a few things to fix his ship."

"You're helping him!?" Chichi followed her back inside, nearly screeching her surprise.

"His ship is damaged." Bulma explained, throwing open her bedroom-lab door, picking clothing and non-volatile things up off her floor and tossing them every which way. Looking for tools and things she might need to repair a hyperdrive. "Would you rather he stay here?"

There was a beat of silence between them.

Then, "Let me help you." Chichi rushed forward. "Will you be putting all this in a capsule, or would you like a bag?"

Bulma paused, considering. She had intended to just use her capsules. It was easiest to carry things that way. Took up the least amount of space and allowed her to place ridiculously huge objects like airplanes and houses inside her pocket without making her feel like she was carrying the weight of a house. But, at the same time, capsules were not a technology the Saiyans were familiar with. When they first started taking people from earth, scholars and scientists to work as slaves, she and her father both had purged all of Capsule Corporation's systems of all knowledge of the capsules and how they worked. So that the only people who knew how to make them were herself and her father. Now… it was just her.

If she showed up back at the elder's house and told the Saiyan she had everything she needed, but didn't appear to be carrying anything, he might become suspicious. But if she showed up with a bag or a backpack almost over-filled with techno-junk, he wouldn't blink twice. That would leave her capsule free to be filled with some of the weapons she'd been developing to combat ki-powerful fighters. If she did end up needing to defend herself, she would have the element of surprise.

"Chichi, you're brilliant!" Bulma beamed. "Yes, a bag, please."

"Okay." Chichi disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a knit-bag she'd made herself. She was quite the knitter when she wasn't changed to a kitchen stove. "Will this one work?"

Bulma looked at its bright and colorful pattern. "It will get dirty."

"That's okay." A dirty bag is a small price to pay for getting rid of a Saiyan.

Together, the two women arranged all of the parts and tools Bulma had piled on her work-table into the bag so that they all fit. It was packed tight, the seams straining. Even if by some miracle, Bulma managed not to stain it with hyperdrive fluid from her tools, the bag would still be ruined after this.

Then Bulma set about compressing her -still experimental- weapons into her empty capsules. The sniper rifle probably wouldn't do her much good. He would be to close to her. But it was designed to pierce Saiyan armor and low-level ki-shields. So, she took it. What would be more practical within the close proximity the Saiyan would be to her was something she dubbed 'Leech-Webbing'. It was basically a throwing bolo, a cable with weights on both ends meant for throwing and tripping or trapping enemies. The cable was one-way ki-conductive, and sapped out the ki of whomever was wrapped in it. The problem with that, however, was that there was no where for the ki to go once it had been sapped, and so in tests, the Leech-Webbing would just explode. Still, it was something, and that was better than nothing.

Bulma would not be helpless.

Slinging the bag over one shoulder, Bulma heaved a sigh and glanced at Chichi. "Well, I'm off. If I don't come back, please take good care of Trunks. I know he can be hard to deal with sometimes. He has to much of his father in him."

"I won't have to, because you'll come back." Chichi nodded with confidence. "I already lost my Goku. I won't lose you too."

Setting the bag back down, Bulma placed both hands on Chichi's shoulders and smiled. "I doubt even the gods would risk incurring your wrath. Your frying pan is to well honed."

Chichi smiled back. "It certainly manages to keep the boys in line. And Piccolo, too, when I need to."

They shared a laugh. "I'll be back when I'm done. Then we'll share water."

She left.

The Saiyan was waiting outside when Bulma returned. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, looking to the side, watching the villagers go about their normal activities with a sort of casual interest. Bulma paused when she saw him. In profile, he looked almost like Vegeta. A bit younger, and shorter, of course. Different hair, no sharp widows peak. Softer features. Not nearly as severe or unforgiving. But his eyes were the same shape, his nose had the same sharp slope, the same strong chin… this Saiyan looked a bit like how Bulma imagined her Vegeta might have looked like if he hadn't grown up with all the expectations and pressures of being Prince of an evil warrior race.

Perhaps sensing her watching him, the Saiyan turned to her. Seeing her standing there with her bag of techno-gear, he walked towards her. "Ready?"

Bulma nodded.

The Saiyan lifted her into his arms and the both of them climbed into the air.

As he said, it was over an hour's flight from Ighai village. In fact, it was almost two hours. The wind sharp against Bulma's face, tossing her short hair into an untidy nest of aqua knots, flipping the collar of her tunic about her neck. The Saiyan noticed her scar and paused in their flight. Brushing the collar of her tunic aside to get a better look at it, the Saiyan peered at her neck. At the bite mark Vegeta had given her the night they parted ways with no explanation. It had hurt like a mother-fucking-bitch and it scarred. And for no reason. Stupid Saiyan.

"What are you doing?" Bulma demanded. "Don't get fresh with me, Saiyan, or I won't fix your ship and you'll be stuck here."

"I wouldn't dream of molesting you." He assured her. "Even if I didn't already have a mate of my own waiting for me at home, I see you have been claimed by another."

Claimed? That's what Vegeta was doing? Marking her to show she was his? Like… like a cattle brand? That dick! He was lucky she didn't know what it meant when he did it to her. She was nobody's stock! If she had known, Bulma would have made him rue the day he ever discovered that women didn't have cooties after all. Damn Saiyan ass.

"I suppose that's why you're hiding out here." He continued. "Its no business of mine, but I'm surprised your mate allowed you to come to me alone and unprotected. I would have expected to meet him first. Charging in and beating my face in."

Bulma stopped listening at the word 'mate'. "Wait, what? What does this scar mean?"

He looked at her oddly. As if confused by her question. Finally, "You don't know what the mark means?"

"The one who gave it to me didn't explain it and… he is no longer with me." That was ambiguous enough, right?

"Oh. I see. I'm sorry for your loss." And for some reason, Bulma believe him when he said that. Like he actually was sorry that she and Vegeta were no longer together. "The monarchy's policies on inter-racial mating are archaic and out-dated. I had hoped to convince my brother to change all that once he became King, but… he seem's content with the monarchy remaining stagnant and non-progressive. But nothing can endure forever. Eventually, something will have to break and when it does… I worry for him."

Bulma ignored the fact that this Saiyan seemed so open and willing to share, especially with a complete stranger like herself and just focused on the other, and slightly more suspicious detail he shared. "Why do you think your brother will be King?"

"Oh!" He looked at her suddenly, as if he hadn't actually meant to share that little detail. They resumed flying towards his ship. "My elder brother is Prince Vegeta, first born of King Vegeta the XIII and Queen Celery. Now that the King is dead, my brother will be King."

The analytical part of Bulma's brain told her that the important part of that statement was that the old King Vegeta -her Vegeta's father- was now dead and out of the way. But all she could focus on was, "You're Vegeta's brother!? You're the one who lives on planet Glue!"

"Gyu." He corrected.

"You're Toggle!"

"Tarble." He corrected again. Then added, "How do you know all that? I don't think I'm that widely talked of within the monarchy. Unless…" Tarble trailed off, as if recalling something, or fitting pieces together that he hadn't previously thought were connected.

They stopped flying again. Hovering in the air, he starred at her with a sort of disbelieving bemusement. "You're her! You're the human woman Niisan asked about. The one he wanted to know if came to Gyu or not. Somewhere where Vegeta-sei or the monarchy can't bother you anymore… He made you his mate!"

What was Bulma supposed to say to all that? Tarble already had a pretty good idea of who she was. She didn't need to fill in anything. In fact, the mate thing was news to her, so he technically knew more about her than she knew about her self -at least within the context of this conversation. So, Vegeta had warned his brother to expect her -and possibly Trunks?- arriving on Gyu. But she never went there. She came to Namek instead. Followed Chichi and Gohan. Had Vegeta ever tried to check up on her? Ever gone to Gyu to look for her and their son? What would he have thought when he realized they weren't there and were never there?

'Somewhere where Vegeta-sei or the monarchy can't bother you anymore.' That was true. But it was an odd phrasing.

But before Bulma could ponder that any further, Tarble blurted out. "Maybe you can do it!"

"Huh?" She blinked at him. Do what?

Landing on solid ground, Tarble let her down from his arms and grabbed her by the shoulders instead, his fingers almost painfully tight from his excitement. "Oh, Hamesh does indeed work in mysterious ways! I couldn't convince Niisan. I thought he had become just like our father. But he was trying to protect you! -In his own strange way.- He's lived so long in Father's world that he doesn't realize he's in a position to change it. I tried to convince him, but now I see I wasn't the right person. But you…! You're his mate! You can convince him to change the monarchy's policies on dealing with other races! You can get through to him where I couldn't!"

"Wait, what?" For some reason, Bulma felt like she'd only heard half of a conversation.

Tarble looked off into the distance, contemplating. "I have only just a one-man pod right now…" He said, speaking more to himself. "Alright! After you fix my ship, I'll return to Gyu and borrow a larger ship from my mate's estate. Then I'll come back for you and together we'll go to Vegeta-sei to force Niisan to realize that the monarchy can't continue the way it is. He's in a position to change things now when he wasn't before. The old King is dead. His policies should die with him! The time for change it now!"

Bulma heard none of that. Her mind was paralyzed at 'go to Vegeta-sei'. That hatful, savage planet with its sickly yellow sky and binary suns. Its dense city with narrow streets and tall buildings that block out the light of the suns even on the most clear of days, plunging the lower levels of the city into near perpetual darkness. No! She would not go back there! Not for him. Not for anyone. Not ever! Besides, she had a son to think about. Where would Trunks be while she was off on a hostile alien planet? Here, with Chichi and Gohan, wreaking havoc with Goten without her to keep her difficult son in line? Or… (assuming Tarble also knew about Trunks) was his plan for both of them to come to Vegeta-sei?

Absolutely not!

Bulma would not allow that! Her baby boy was not getting within a million parsecs of that star system. Over her dead body! "I'm not going to Vegeta-sei."

He paused. Blinked at her. "But-"

"I have more important things to worry about than putting Vegeta in his place." She explained, not giving Tarble the chance to argue.

"What could be more important than changing a stagnant and bigoted society?" He paused. Thought. Continued. "There's a child, isn't there. A hansaiya. You and Niisan made a hansaiya and it survived. Think of your child, then! Wouldn't you rather he or she grow up in a world where they don't have to hide constantly? Or fear that the next person they meat might try to kill them simply because their parents were of two different races? Wouldn't you rather they be part of the community rather than the unwanted dregs cast off from it?"

"Here my son doesn't have to worry about any of that!" Bulma snapped. "As you said, 'so far removed from Vegeta-sei and the monarchy to not be bothered by it anymore'. Here on Namek they have heard of the Saiyan monarchy, but they are not a part of it. They do not hold with its views on aliens or half-aliens. Here my son is brother to the whole village. Let the Saiyans keep their monarchy. They deserve it! And given enough time, they'll destroy themselves."

"But-" He tried again, feebly.

"Take me to your pod, Tarble." She, again, cut him off before he could argue the point. As much as all he said sounded appealing, the risks involved out-weighed the gains. Dramatic political and social changes were never easy and almost never peaceful. Tarble made it sound so easy. Vegeta was the new King, he was the head of the monarchy. He was in a position to change things. But he was still one man. If the rest of Saiyan society wasn't ready for the change, or flat-out didn't want the change at all -whether they might be ready or not- then the only thing they would succeed in doing would be to incite a rebellion. Replace the Vegeta Dynasty with another, new and unfamiliar, Saiyan King. Bulma didn't like it, but she'd rather stick with the devil she knew. "I'll fix your ship quickly so you can go."

Reluctantly, he nodded. Picking her back up in his arms and flying the rest of the way to his ship in tense silence. His final statement before the matter was dropped completely being only, "You and he deserve each other, Neesan."

…

The hyperdrive cylinder wasn't so much broken as it was cracked. That made things easier. Bulma was dreading the prospect of having to build a completely new unit. But the cracks she could just patch-up with some sealant. It would not be a permanent fix, but it would get Tarble back to Gyu without further problems. Of that she was confident. Once he was back on his own planet, he could take his pod into a local mechanic that actually stocked parts specifically meant for his ship, and have it professionally repainted.

As he climbed into the pod, Tarble tried one more time. "Are you sure you don't want me to return for you once I can get a different ship? I know all the hidden ways into the Palace. You would be safe, I promise."

Bulma shook her head. As nice as it did sound being able to see Vegeta again, she couldn't think of herself. She had a child. Three children, really, since she and Chichi shared parent duties. Her first duty was to them. To keep them safe. The idea of chaining things was appealing, and if Vegeta really was in a position to do something, then that sounded even better. But, if he wasn't already going to do it, if he needed her to convince him, then nothing would really change. She knew him to well. His pride would not allow his opinions to be swayed easily.

Well, she had wondered which way Vegeta's aura aligned these days. It looked like she had her answer. She and Trunks were not part of his life anymore, so he had no reason to do anything any different from his father. That made him an enemy, not an ally. Bulma would not go freely into an enemy's lair. Not when it would risk exposing Trunks and the Sons. Not even the lair of her former lover.

"No, Prince Tarble." She said. "I'm staying here."

For a moment, it looked like he was gonna argue more. But instead he sighed, slumping back in the seat of his pod. "You and Niisan are so alike. Stubborn to a fault. But what else can I expect." He made ready to leave. "Oh, and Bulma-san, I don't like being called 'Prince' Tarble. I prefer my Gyujin name. Tarble ben Malpe. It means, uh, 'Tarble of the Monkeys'."

Bulma couldn't help but smile at that. "I once knew another Saiyan who did not live on Vegeta-sei. His adopted name was Son Goku. It meant 'the Monkey King'."

And Tarble couldn't help but smiled back. "I would like to meet him one day."

Her mood suddenly turning melancholy, Bulma shook her head. "You can't. He was executed as a deserter -among other crimes- years ago."

"Oh." And his smile also quickly faded. Replaced with an expression of disgusted. "The monarchy has to many draconian laws and punishments. Are you sure you don't want to help me convince my brother to change them?"

Again, she shook her head. "For my son to stay safe, we should both stay hidden. Good bye, Tarble ben Malpe. Maybe some day we can share water together. May your cup never go dry."

"And you, Bulma-neesan." He nodded, not really recognizing the significance of her offer to share water. Once again, the Saiyan paused, as if making a decision. Then he took off his scouter and tossed it to her. "If you change your mind, you can use this to contact me. I think you're making the wrong decision, but then, Hamesh says that all people must come to truth in their own time. I hope to see you again. Peace be with you."

"And you." Bulma nodded, holding the scouter.


	6. The Weak Will

Blue and gold were the colors of ki. Blue, the color of a warrior's aura when he charged for a battle. Gold, the color of his attacks when he released his power. Blue and gold were the colors of power.

Vegeta stood at the base of the stairs leading up to the dais on which rested the Cairngrom Throne, his back to the court, facing a Priest of the Temple of Fire whom stood on the step just above him. Armor polished to a shine, the jumpsuit underneath a rich royal blue, the cape that fell in ripples from his over-large shoulders was gold, as were his gloves and boots. A King's coronation was one of the few times in his life when he would wear such impractical garments fashioned to look like actual combat gear. About the only thing on him that might hold up in a real fight was probably his socks.

Over him, the Priest of Fire spoke the 'Ascension of the Heir', "Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising./ When moon has set, fist and fang battle's won./ Through wrath and ruin, victory's chiming./ Upon the throne of Cairngrom, the old King's done./ A Prince ascends in armor shining." It was an old verse from an older text, spoken only during coronation ceremonies. Then, the Priest continued, "Do you, Prince Vegeta, first born of King Vegeta XIII and Queen Celery, swear to uphold the Laws and Traditions of the Saiyan people and this monarchy, to never waver in the face of our enemies, and to safeguard the power that is our race's divine right?"

Vegeta was quiet as he reflected on the oath. He thought about what Tarble said. About changing things. Maybe, if he did… He didn't know where Bulma had gone. He didn't even know if she and their son were even still alive. But if they were, and he was now King, and he really did take his little brother's advice and use his position and power to repeal the laws against interbreeding with other races, maybe they could be together again… He could raise his son properly, train him as a Saiyan father should. Instruct him in the ways of battle and teach him how to be a man. But… doing that would break the very first Oath of the King. 'Uphold the Laws and Traditions of the Saiyan people.'

It was a catch 22, a damned if he did, damned if he didn't situation. The Oath of the King prevented him from enacting any dramatic changes in law or society, but ascending to become King was the only way he could enact those changes. He was trapped.

He found himself suppressing the urge to look to his right. Look at Nappa. He knew the old man must be beaming with pride right now. This was the moment he'd worked for. The moment he'd devoted his life to. Trained Vegeta for. For the day he succeeded his father as King. It was the one thing he asked for when he called in his debt. Don't leave with your woman. Stay and be the King I trained you to be. For that, Vegeta would never forgive him.

Oh his left Soy was also beaming, but not with pride. With triumph. He may not touch her. They may never have laid together -not even once. She was not his mate. But, she was his wife. When he ascended to the throne, Soy would become Queen. Vegeta wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't really have a strong opinion about it one way or another. Except to sometimes brood that the position of Queen should belong to another woman. A foreign woman of another race. With aqua blue hair and piercing, intelligent summer-sky blue eyes. Eyes the same color as the skies over her home planet of Earth.

Then there was Tarble -not currently in attendance- whom also wanted him to be King. Not for the honor it would do him, as Nappa wanted. Nor for the power it might grant him, as Soy wanted. Tarble wanted Vegeta to be King for the potential it offered. The opportunity. For change. Vegeta knew perfectly well his little brother's hatred for their father and the world he had perpetuated. Tarble wanted the end of their father's world.

No matter who he considered, everyone wanted him to be King for themselves and their own reasons. But what did he want? Did he want to be King? Or did he want to go searching the galaxy aimlessly for a woman and a child that might not even still be alive? With his father gone, Vegeta now had the freedom to do whatever he wanted and to answer to nobody. For a moment, he thought about saying, 'No, I do not swear. Fuck you all. I'm leaving!'

But then, he thought of Kakarot, stretched between the pillars in the Square. "I am Son Goku. I am an Earthling!"

Kakarot might have been born a Saiyan. But he grew up on a distant planet. Followed their customs. Believed in their philosophies. Mated one of their women. He might have been born to the Saiyan race, but he did not belong to the Saiyan people. He really was an Earthling. He knew who he was and what he was. And he knew it so firmly that he was willing to die for that identity.

But who, and what was he? No matter what he may think, or what else he may want, there was one thing Vegeta could not change. He was a first born Prince of the ruling House of the Saiyan monarchy. As Nappa often reminded him over these past eight years, he had been trained, educated, and groomed almost from the first moment he tumbled screaming out of his mother's womb, to be the next King of Vegeta-sei. It was all he ever knew. That was his identity. No matter where he went. No matter who he was with. No matter what else he did. That was something that would never change. He would always be Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans. What good was a Prince without a people? What good was a Prince without a kingdom? What good was a Prince that did not one day ascend to become King?

Kakarot was an Earthling. But Vegeta… Vegeta was a Vegetan.

"I am Son Goku. I am an Earthling!"

Voice heavy and sober, he answered, "I am Vegeta XIV. I am a Saiyan of Vegeta-sei and I swear by all that I am, I will."

Vegeta climbed the dais to the Cairngrom Throne. Turning round with a flourish, golden cape swooshing behind him, he sat down on his father's throne, for the first time as King, and looked down on his court.

"The old King has taken his Final Dispatch." Said the Priest of Fire. "Long live the King!"

There was a great rustling of fabrics and clink of armor as everyone gathered in the throne room went to one knee, one fist over their hearts, the other to the ground.

And Vegeta wondered if he'd made the wrong decision.

…

Tarble said it didn't matter if Vegeta lifted his exile or not, he didn't intend on returning to Vegeta-sei ever again.

But, for his first act as new King, Vegeta did it anyway. Pardoning his brother of the unforgivable crime of being a pacifist, and inviting him back to Vegeta-sei, offering him the position of Archduke. Vegeta didn't know what Tarble would do with his pardon or title. But they were his to do with, or ignore as he pleased. If Vegeta never saw his little brother again, it would not because of anything lacking on his end.

Written, copied, signed and sealed.

One copy of the pardon was handed off to a courier to deliver directly into his brother's hand at his estate on Gyu. Or, if Tarble refused to see the Saiyan messenger, the pardon was to be given to a high ranked member of the household to pass on to the newly appointed Archduke. Vegeta phrased it like that because the only other person he imagined could be trusted with the document would be Tarble's mysterious Gyujin mate, but he couldn't very well say that outright. Inter-racial marriage was illegal and as King, it was Vegeta's duty to uphold and enforce those laws. But… for his baby-brother, whom had already been wronged by their late father and the world he build enough, the King was willing to turn a blind-eye to the Archduke's illegal choice of partner -so long as their match remained discreet.

Since Tarble expressed that he'd never return to Vegeta-sei anyway, it was ultimately a non-issue.

The second copy of the pardon was entrusted to a page to be filed in the Palace records.

It was as the page was just leaving that Soy entered the study.

Vegeta frowned when he sensed her ki, but he did not look up. She knew how he felt about inviting herself into his study. Sometimes he wondered if she did it simply because it irritated him and she wanted to get a rise out of him. Over the past eight years they had settled into a passive-aggressive, but semi-regular pattern.

He would set a boundary. She would skirt around its edges for a while, testing the waters. Then cross it. He would get mad and blow-up at her. They would fight. The battle would end with one pinning the other against a flat surface, in the case of him restraining her, it would be accompanied with a threat of death if she continued to test him. In the case of her restraining him -which was rare but had happened- it was accompanied by an unsolicited sexual advance and number of unpleasant insinuations about his masculinity. But ultimately, he wouldn't kill her and she couldn't tempt him or provoke him into bed. So, their fights would end with each going their separate ways, frustrated and angry.

Vegeta didn't feel like dealing with that today. At least, not right now.

Ever since Tarble's visit he'd been in a foul mood.

For many reasons.

The first being that he had hoped Bulma might have gone to Gyu after all. Done as he said and sought out his brother for shelter and protection. But no, the gods forbid that woman ever do anything he told her. Now he didn't know where in the galaxy she was. Or if she and his son were even still alive. For all he knew they could have been killed on their way out from Vegeta-sei. Shot down by a patrol. Murdered by another Saiyan that just so happened to cross their path on whatever planet she did end-up going to. Or, hell, for all he knew, she could have flown her ship directly into a supernova! Bottom line: he had no idea what happened to his mate and son and had no way of finding out. He could only hope that, since he hadn't heard anything about them, that they were beyond the monarchy's reach and that he didn't have cause to worry.

Of course, that didn't stop him from worrying. It just meant that he did have cause to and that it was an irrational concern.

But that wasn't the only reason Tarble's visit had left him in a bleak mood.

Now that Father was gone -and he was quite happy about that, actually- Tarble was his only family left in the galaxy. Now that he was King, he could lift the banishment Father imposed on him and bring his baby brother home. It would be nice to have him back. But Tarble wanted nothing to do with him, it seemed. Not if he wasn't willing to completely change everything about Saiyan society. As if one monarch could do something like that in one lifetime! It was an impossible request. Tarble hated Vegeta-sei and Saiyan society because he hated their father. It was as plain and simple as that. He might be a grown man now, but in that one respect at least, he was still just an angry child. He refused to conform to the way things were and detested the monarchy for demanding that he either conform or get the fuck out.

Now Vegeta was the head of that monarchy and so Tarble's resentment was transferred from their late father to him.

This was why warriors were advised not to form close personal attachments. This was why emotional attachment was considered a weakness. Because it hurt. He could not be with his mate because she was not Saiyan and so he had to send her away to keep her safe. He could not train his son and teach him to be a man as a warrior should because his son was hansaiya, a forbidden abomination. And, he could not see his brother because father banished him when he was still young. Now, that Vegeta was King and he could come back, Tarble resented the society that rejected him refused to return.

Through one way or another, the people he cared about were denied him.

"First night as King and already so busy." Soy commented, tired of being ignored.

Vegeta still did not look up at her. "Go away."

She turned from the desk, but didn't head out of the room. Instead going for a decanter of chisake and two goblets. She pored them each a glass of the blood wine and set Vegeta's on the desk by his hand.

"A toast." She suggested. "To the ascension of the new King of all Saiyans."

He did look up at her then. Dark hair tumbling in wild waves around her shoulders, armor tapered around her waist, showing off just how slender she was and enhancing the curve of her hips. She was a very attractive woman. So long as she didn't speak.

Soy held her goblet to her red-painted lips, not yet drinking the blood-wine. Waiting for him to pick up his own goblet and share the toast with her.

"Don't you have better things to do?" He growled.

"Possibly." She admitted. "But I'd rather celebrate your coronation with you."

"Or celebrate your own elevation to Queen." He translated.

Soy lowered her goblet without drinking a drop. She set the cup gently on the desk and with a sigh admitted, "To be honest, Vegeta, I had hoped you would finally sleep with me tonight."

"Not interested." His attention returned to the papers on his desk. Now that Tarble's pardon had been signed, sealed and filed, what should he work on next? The rebels on Earth were still making a nuisance of themselves. The encamped troops were requesting reinforcements to help track the irksome humans down and destroy them. For a moment, Vegeta wondered just how pathetic the warriors his father assigned to Earth really were, if they couldn't deal with a group of weak and pitiful Earthlings.

Earthling

Then he remembered Kakarot, strung between the pillars in the Square. Confident and defiant. Fearless. Proclaiming himself to not be a Saiyan, he was an Earthling. He was not weak. And Bulma… His woman. The Woman. She was not a fighter. She possessed no powerful ki. But she was not weak. She was fearless and clever. If the world did not adapt to her, then she adapted to the world, found ways -or invented ways- around obstacles. If Earth could produce individuals like them, then maybe the monarchy's occupying forces did need the extra help.

"You will have to sleep with me eventually, Vegeta!" Soy insisted, pulling him away from his work. "You're King now. One day you'll need an heir. As your legal wife, that heir is expected to come from me!"

"I don't need anything." Vegeta stood. He had a son already. Had circumstances been different, his son could have been his heir. A hansaiya would sit upon the Cairngrom Throne. But things were not different. Things were the way they were. His son would never see the golden skies of Vegeta-sei or sit upon his ancestors' throne. "You want a brat so badly, Soy, find some other unfortunate man to give you one. Call it mine if you want to. I don't care. But you'll never have me in your bed."

He walked out from behind the desk, intending to leave. The situation on Earth could be dealt with later. Vegeta was in no mood to play King anymore tonight. He pardoned his brother and Tarble was now free to return to Vegeta-sei if he so chose -which he probably would not- and that was the important thing. Everything else could wait.

She grabbed his arm at the door, making him pause. "Are you insane?" She demanded. "You are the head of House Vegeta, a direct decedent of the Legendary. It is your duty to continue your bloodline. Don't tell me you don't need an heir! Out of all the Elite Houses on Vegeta-sei, you are the one that needs an heir the most!"

"And I suppose you think you're the only vessel capable of continuing my line." He growled low in the back of his throat. Dark eyes glaring at her feral and deadly. He thought of Bulma, her aqua hair plastered to the sides of her face and neck with her own sweat. Holding their newborn son in her arms. His son… so tiny and fragile in his hands. If things had been different he would not be having this conversation with Soy right now. If things were different, Bulma would have been his Queen. Their son, his heir. Bulma was the vessel that continued the line of House Vegeta. Soy was just the woman his father had chosen for him with misguided ideas of her own purpose and importance.

"I'm the vessel your father decided on for you." She reminded him.

"My father's dead, Soy." He reminded her. "His decisions no longer hold as law. You are my legal wife, but you are not my mate. You do not carry my mark, and you will never bear my children."

Wrenching his arm free from her hold, Vegeta left before she could use his last statement as fodder for an insult to his masculinity and provoke him into a real fight.

Vegeta stormed through the halls and corridors of the Palace. Servants and attendants darted out of his way, flattening themselves against walls, turning down side corridors, or darting into rooms in their hast to get clear of the new King's path. He might have only been King for a few short hours, but Vegeta's temper was nothing new and all that lived or worked in the Palace knew to get the hell out of his way whenever he was in one of his moods.

In his own chambers finally, Vegeta slammed the door to his sitting room shut, leaning against its frame.

He took a moment to process Soy's words. He was the head of House Vegeta, the ruling House of the Saiyan monarchy. He was King. But his House would have no heir. Ha had a son, but his son was not heir to House Vegeta. He might be a decedent of the Legendary, and carry the blood of a Prince, but if his son was heir to anything, it would be House Briefs, his human mother's House.

Vegeta wasn't really sure if Earth-society organized itself into houses as the Saiyans did. Bulma never really spoke of her home much -it made her to angry. But he did know that prior to the Saiyan occupation and the planet being harvested of all its scientific geniuses, she had been some version of Earth nobility. She was heiress to something called Capsule Corporation. Vegeta wasn't quite sure what that was, exactly. He always just assumed it meant that her family was the ruling House of the scientist cast. She certainly fit the profile for a Princess -or a Queen. So, whatever Bulma had been heiress to, that would be what his son would be heir to. House Briefs. Capsule Corporation. The scientist or technician cast. Whatever. But not House Vegeta. Never House Vegeta.

A hansaiya would never sit upon the Cairngrom Throne.

House Vegeta would die with him.

With a sigh, Vegeta pushed himself off the door frame and crossed his sitting room to the bedroom. He went strait for his bedside table. In the bedside table was a drawer. Inside that drawer was a box. Inside that box was a tail.

It was a small tail, only a few inches long. A child's tail really. But unlike most Saiyan tails which had black or brown fur, this tail was covered in soft lavender fur. It was not the tail of a full-blooded Saiyan, this was the tail of a hansaiya abomination. This was his son's tail.

Taking his gloves off, Vegeta ran a thumb through the thick but soft fur. He had only just recently reclaimed his son's tail. After presenting it to his father eight years ago, Vegeta thought the old man would have thrown it away or else disposed of it in some other way. But the late King Vegeta was not so cavalier in dealing with a hansaiya within his own house. Instead, the late King Vegeta commissioned a taxidermist to make a chain out of the tail. Humans on Earth did something similar with the feet of an animal they called a 'rabbit'. Rabbits' feet were carried on chains as charms for good luck. But the late King Vegeta did not intend for the lavender hansaiya tail to be a luck charm.

It was a reminder to the Prince. King Vegeta wore it openly, handing from a loop wrapped around his own tail. He wore it like an ornament on a belt. Every day since Vegeta sent Bulma away with their son, up to the morning that his father died, he had to look at his son's tail worn like some grotesque trophy. Smell his son's scent from a dead limb, as if smelling his own son covered in the stench of death. Vegeta hated it.

But, when his father died, when the time came to dress him in his armor for the Final Dispatch and adorn him with all that he would be taking with him to the next world, Vegeta could not let the tail burn with the rest of the pyre. The day his father died, Vegeta took his son's tail back. It was still just a dead limb. It still smelled of his son's scent steeped in death. But, it did not bother Vegeta as much anymore. Now that he had it in his possession and could keep it safe. Locked away in his chambers where nobody could wear it openly as a grotesque trophy, taunting him with it. Now, it brought him a sort of morbid comfort. It was all he had of his son, after all. The Bastard of House Vegeta.

All he had of his son was his tail, and all he had of Bulma were the two tiny scratches she left on his face. Little more than cat-scratches. A person couldn't even see them unless they were right up close. But, perhaps, that was a good thing.

Beyond his bedroom door, Vegeta heard the main door to his suits open and close. Someone had entered his sitting room without permission. Only two people on the planet dared do that. Soy, whom believed her status as his wife gave her leave to do as she pleased, and Nappa whom had raised and trained the heirs of House Vegeta since he himself was young.

Vegeta replaced the lavender tail in its box, snapping the lid shut just in time before the door separating his bedroom from the sitting room opened.

It was Nappa.

Vegeta wasn't surprised. He hadn't seen the man since his coronation ceremony in the throne room and he had been expecting to hear something from his old mentor. Some short speech on how he did the right thing and made his ancestors proud. Wasn't he glad he chose to stay all those years ago and become the King he is today. Something like that. Something Vegeta didn't want to hear. There once was a time when Nappa had been like a second father to him. But Nappa was also the one that convinced him not to leave with his mate and son. To stay on Vegeta-sei, under his father's thumb. Trapping him here by his own damn honor. Buying his son's life and freedom with his service to the monarchy.

For that, he would never forgive Nappa.

The older man's eyes flicked down to the box, still in Vegeta's hands. He never saw the Prince take the hansaiya tail. But there was nothing wrong with his eyes and he had noted that it was not present on the late King's pyre. There was also nothing wrong with his nose and could note that a scent similar to that of other stuffed trophies lingered. But he said nothing.

Vegeta replaced the box in his bedside table and shut the drawer before facing his old mentor. Arms crossed over his chest, the young King thought about scolding the older man for barging in without being given leave. But Nappa spoke first.

"You did the right thing today." He said. "I know you very well, You Majesty. I could tell that you were considering forsaking your crown and the monarchy. I know you still dwell on that woman and her child. But today you showed your true character, you're a man of honor that recognizes his duties to crown and country come before personal and base desires. I'm proud of you."

Vegeta averted his eyes. Speaking to any other man, he would never allow himself to look away, to let some of his true feelings show. But, as Nappa just reminded him, the old man knew the young King to well. Had trained him since his boyhood. Knew his most carefully kept secrets. Knew about his true mate and the bastard that might have been his heir had things happened differently. He hated Nappa for making him stay, for trapping him in his father's world. He would never forgive the old man for that. But, Nappa was also the only other person besides himself who knew his secrets and his mind. Nappa was the only person Vegeta might even begin to consider a 'confidant'.

"I was only doing as you asked." He said. "Fulfilling my payment to you. Your help in saving my son's life in exchange for my service to my people. I didn't do it for you, Nappa. I did it for him. That little half-breed bastard who's name I don't even know."

"I know." The old mentor nodded, not bothering to try and hide the small bit of disappointment he felt at that. "I knew the moment you marked that woman as your mate that you would never fully return to your people. Your loyalties will forever be split. In some ways, maybe it would have been better if I'd let you go with them that night. As you are now, torn between two opposing duties… I've made you a weak King."

"I am not weak!" Vegeta snarled suddenly.

"No." Nappa agreed. "You're quite strong. One of the best warriors I've ever trained. Strong, and clever, and brutally practical. As every great King should be. But you are also weak because your first responsibility is no longer to your people. But the woman and the boy are not here anymore, and so your first responsibility is not to them either. So, you freeze. Paralyzed by your conflicting loyalties. As you did today. You are not physically weak, Your Majesty. But I have weakened your will."

Vegeta snarled, pushing Nappa out of his room, back into the sitting room. "Did you come just to test my patients!?"

The older man reclaimed his balance and looked down at his young King. "No, Your Majesty." He answered calmly. "You're now my King, you're no longer my student. I came here to give you my final bit of sagely advice: The woman and the boy are gone. Whether they're thriving somewhere beyond the monarchy's reach or have already taken their Final Dispatches is immaterial. They are not here. Don't dwell on them. You are the King of All Saiyans now and your first duty is to your crown. More than just King, you are the head of House Vegeta-"

Here, the young King gave a dark laugh. Full of bitterness and loathsome irony.

"House Vegeta…" He repeated in a deceptively soft voice. "And what is House Vegeta, Nappa? Tell me. Tell me about the great and powerful House Vegeta! My father is dead, given the FInal Dispatch and sent on his way, never to bother me again. My brother refuses to return home, preferring to live as an outcast rather than reclaim the honor and title that were denied him almost two decades ago. My son is so far beyond my reach that I don't even know if he still lives! There is no House Vegeta, Nappa. There is only me! The last King of a wretched House that should have been stripped of its lordship generations ago."

"You don't mean that!"

"Oh, but I do!" Vegeta insisted. "One way or another, I will be the last King of House Vegeta. Tarble will never have any children of his own. I will have no nephews to pass the throne to. My son, the one I would choose as my heir, is an unacceptable abomination. A hansaiya could never sit upon the Cairngrom Throne. Who then is left? No one. House Vegeta will die with me. And when I am gone, the rest of the Elite class can fight and kill each other to their hearts' content, competing for the throne. Let them destroy themselves! Its what we Saiyans deserve!."

Nappa stared at him. Blinking in abject shock. "Do you hear yourself? You're mad!"

And Vegeta only smiled. "Maybe I am… But you're the one who insisted I stay. If I'm mad, its because of you. You placed a mad King on the Cairngrom Throne of Vegeta-sei. What does that make you, Nappa? We all must live with the decisions we make. I will live and rule as the Last King of Vegeta-sei. And you will live as the man who placed me on my throne."

Not knowing what to say, Nappa only backed up. The older man not taking his eyes off his King. "You're over-tired, Your Majesty." He said finally. "It's been a long day. You'll be more yourself in the morning."

He left.

Vegeta turned to walk back into the bedroom.

And froze instantly.

Sitting in his window, silhouetted against the fading light of the setting suns, was the figure of a man. The light from the suns behind him threw most of his features into shadow, making it hard to discern his identity. But the King recognized that unkept nest of hair. That silhouette. He had only known the man for a short time and very long ago, but he still continued to haunt his dreams some nights. His final words echoing through his mind. 'I am Son Goku. I am an Earthling!'

"K-kakarot!?" He gasped. "But- you're dead!"

The figure laughed a deep mirthless laugh. Not the sort of thing Vegeta thought the late defector would laugh. It was low and dark, full of slow-burning rage and vengeance. "Even seeing it now with my waking eyes, I'm not sure I believe it."

That voice, that was not Kakarot's voice. Who, then, was this stranger that dared trespass in the King's chambers?

"The last King of House Vegeta hates his own people." And though he could not see it, for the man's face was in shadow, Vegeta was sure he felt him smile. "You're right, Your Majesty. A hansaiya will not sit upon the Cairngrom Throne. …A hansaiya will break it!"

With that, the figure leaped from the window ledge and was gone. "Be seeing you."

Vegeta dashed to his window to try and get a glimpse of the man as he flew away. A better angle, better lit by the setting suns to try and discern his identity. It was obviously not Kakarot. The fact that he was dead aside, the Third Class defector had never acted like that. But when Vegeta peered out his window, there was no sign of the man. Looking in all directions. Up into the darkening sky. Down into the narrow streets of Salaad below. Strait ahead into the fading corona of the suns. There was no figure that resembled Kakarot flying away from the Palace. It was like he just disappeared.

Instant.


	7. The Old Friends

There were six main ship yards on planet Earth, one for each of the habitable continents of the planet. The closest one to the resistance's base in Dragon Rock at the foot of Mount Paozu, was in Skull Valley, just outside of the East District. It was closest to their hideout, which meant that it would be the easiest to get to and get away from the fastest. But it was not the one they chose to steal a spaceship from.

On Yamcha's insistence, they instead targeted the shipyards in West City. Built right on top of the ruins of the old Capsule Corporation compound.

His justification for insisting on that one as the target was simple: He already knew the lay-out of the place like the back of his hand. He could find his way through the CC compound blindfolded. Kuririn, Roshi, Tenshinhan, and Lunch also knew the place fairly well. As such, they could shave a good week off the planning stage of their raid. There was no need to steal blueprints or maps of the inside of the compound. The infiltration team already knew where to go and what to do.

The plan was similar to Videl's hit on the storage compound.

The stronger fighters like Seventeen, Eighteen, and Tien would go in first. Stir things up. Create a distraction. Then the away team, Kuririn and Yamcha would sneak in during the commotion and steal a ship. Mai and Shu, piloting mech-suits, would cover their flank while they tried to get the ship in the air. It all sounded very clean and nice. Kuririn wasn't happy that both he and his wife would be deployed on a mission at the same time. Not because he didn't enjoy working with Eighteen, but because they had a child waiting for them back at base and if they both bought it in the mission -that is to say, if they both died- he worried who would care for their daughter.

Brunette-Lunch assured him that he had nothing to worry about. That little Marron would be cared for no matter what. And brunette-Lunch he believed. Brunette-Lunch probably would make a decent guardian for Marron-chan if he and Eighteen both bought it. But Lunch wasn't brunette all the time and Kruririn dreaded the thought of blond-Lunch being responsible for his precious baby girl.

"Team two, in position." Eighteen's voice crackled over the radio. "Team one, what's your status? Oi, Kuririn, you awake?"

Thumbing the radio mounted on the vest he wore over his orange Kame dogi, Kuririn grumbled a, "Yes, dear."

Yamcha reached down and took the radio from him. Holding down the transmitter button he said, "Team one, ready to go. Team three, already suited up and in position."

"Roger that." Eighteen clicked off.

Kuririn sighed as the radio was handed back to him. "I really hope we don't die on this mission."

"Don't think of it that way." Yamcha told him. "Think about it like this: We're going to get Gohan-chan and bring him home. Goku might be gone, but if Gohan is anything like his dad then those Saiyans will be running for cover with their tails between their legs by the end of the week! Then we'll have a big party with lots of food that none of us will get to eat! 'Cause, ya know, if he's anything like Goku…"

Kuririn smiled with fond memories. Of dinners after tournaments and having to be ushered out of restaurants because they ran out of food -and Goku was still hungry. His smile morphed into an ironic grin. "Good thing Videl-chan managed to bring back all those food stuffs from her last mission. When we come back with Gohan-chan, we'll need every last grain of it!"

Yamcha nodded. "Now, lets go get him!"

The former Capsule Corp compound was a rush of activity as Saiyan warriors flew to intercept the attacking trio. While on the ground, the perfectly ordinary humans that worked on the compound as scientists, researches, developers, and engineers, or the menial laborers all ran in the opposite direction. Trying to get as far away from the commotion as they could. Kuririn and Yamcha joined the fleeing crowd for a few moments, blending in with the other weak humans until they turned from the mob, instead darting down a service corridor that lead to the labs.

With Shu and Mai in their mobile suits covering their backs, Yamcha lead Kuririn to what had once been Bulma's private lab. To anyone else, this would have seemed like a stupid move. The lab was a single room with only one door. But they hadn't dated Bulma Briefs off and on for almost twenty years. She might have been a brainy nerd, but she was a wild and crazy party-girl brainy nerd. Sometimes, when she was grounded or otherwise forbidden to go out -for whatever reason- Bulma would retreat into her lab -like a good little science-geek. But in her lab Bulma had built a secret passage.

The Saiyans couldn't know about it. It wasn't on any of the Capsule Corporation's schematics or blueprints for the building. It was a secret addition Bulma made herself. It lead directly from her lab to the main hangar.

Back in the day, the main hangar housed aircars, hover-cycles, planes, jets, even a vintage reproduction of the Batmobile. Now, under Saiyan occupation, the hangar housed space-pods and shuttles. It was for one of these space shuttles that Kuririn and Yamcha were aiming for.

"We'll cover your back." Shu informed them, his fox-ears twitching at sounds that none of their human hearing could detect. He and Mai maneuvered their mobile suits to put the secret passage at their backs and their suits' weapons towards the door. "Go get the son of Goku."

Kuririn and Yamcha nodded, then darted down the passage.

It was a narrow corridor. Narrow and with a low ceiling. A tight passage. Bulma hand meant it for herself and she had been a tiny woman. It made Yamcha feel a bit claustrophobic, but Kuririn appeared to be unbothered. Then, after what felt like an eternity, but what was probably only a few short minuets, the passage opened up again and the two men found themselves standing concealed behind a faux wall.

The hangar was mostly empty. Most of the Saiyan guards having left to tackle Seventeen, Eighteen, and Tien's 'attack' on the compound. But there was one Saiyan still there. Left to guard the hangar and the human slaves doing maintenance on one of the ships.

They both closed their eyes, focussing their ki-senses on the lone guard. Gauging his strength compared to their own combined.

"I think we can take him." Yamcha said.

"We don't need to." Kuririn reminded him. "Our objective is to steal a ship, not kill Saiyans. All we need to do is get to a shuttle without being noticed."

Yamcha looked like he was about to argue. But instead he just grumbled something rude under his breath and crossed his arms over his chest, looking away. Kuririn understood his feelings. Yamcha hated the Saiyans. They all hated the Saiyans, but Yamcha hated them more than the average human, because the Saiyans had taken his lover. He and Bulma had been on-again-off-again boyfriend and girlfriend for almost fifteen years. They had been fighting at the time that she was taken. The last words Yamcha said to her having been words of anger. Now he had no idea what happened to her and could never take back what he said. All because of the Saiyans.

"Look, I get it." Kuririn tried to reassure him. "If Eighteen was taken, I'd probably feel the same way. But we can't waist time or effort killing one lone Saiyan when our mission is to get a ship and get out. Remember, we're the only ones that Gohan-chan might actually remember. We're the only ones that can bring him back. Once we've got him, you can go ahead and kill all the Saiyans you actually can kill."

Yamcha nodded his agreement. But he wasn't very satisfied with it.

Kuririn peered out through the faux wall, being sure to keep his power suppressed so that the Saiyan guard couldn't detect his ki with his scouter. He studied the hangar and the ships lined up within it. They needed one close to the exit. One they could get out quickly without having to waste to much time taxing down the hangar runway. They also needed one that would be easy to get into. Neither of them being particularly gifted when it came to technology. Mai had given them both a crash-course in alien tech and Yamcha kinda remembered a little bit from Bulma's ramblings back when they were dating. Between the two, they hoped it would be enough to allow for the men to steal and pilot a ship between planets.

"We'll go for that one." Kuririn pointed to a shuttle, second in from the main exit and on the opposite side from the Saiyan guard. "Its gangplank faces the wall so we'll be hidden. They won't even know the ship's being stolen until we start to pull out with it. You sure you can fly it."

"I can fly anything made by Capsule Corp." Yamcha assured the smaller man.

"Okay." He nodded. Kuririn didn't feel like reminding him that it was actually alien technology. But then again, it had been constructed here on Earth by human engineers, maybe they tweaked it so that the average human with no training could fly it. After all, Saiyans needed to fly the ships and they weren't exactly a smart bunch. "Lets go."

They crept out from behind the faux wall.

Walking with their knees bent, keeping low to the ground, they darted from shuttle to shuttle up the row. Pausing behind every ship to check themselves and make sure they didn't arouse anyone's attention. Earthlings in the service of Saiyans, whether by choice or by force, could be just as dangerous if they drew attention to them. It wouldn't matter who it was that actually glimpsed Kuririn and Yamcha. If it brought the Saiyans down on them, it brought the Saiyans down on them.

But they managed to reach the designated ship without incident.

Then came the problematic part. Getting in.

The ship might have been constructed by human hands here on Earth, but it was still an alien design. The outer hatch, fitted with an alien lock. The two men exchanged a look. Great. They were neither of them great technicians. They never needed to be before the Earth was occupied by alien invaders. Bulma had always been the one to handle their technological issues. If she were here right now, she would know what to do.

But she wasn't. Bulma was gone. Taken. Taken by the Saiyans almost ten years ago now, because they were a warrior race and had no great scientific minds within their own people. They had to collect and enslave the scholars and engineers of the races they conquered instead. Harvesting doctors, researchers, physicist, and mechanics from other peoples and races. Bulma was a casualty of that reaping. They didn't even know if she was still alive or not. But the bottom line was, she was gone and for the past decade, they had been alone when it came to technological problems.

Yamcha inched around the ship just enough to spy a glimpse at the Saiyan guard still overseeing the gathered humans doing maintenance on another ship, not to far from them.

"Well…" He whispered, "I could try hot-wiring this thing? It can't be that different from stealing a car."

Kuririn regarded the former bandit skeptically for a moment before ceding. "I'll keep a look out."

Trying to keep his power suppressed as best he could, Yamcha pried open the access panel for the hatch's lock and began sorting out wires. He had plenty of experience hot-wiring cars and aircars back during his days as a bandit, and though this ship might be of alien design, it was still built by human hands. It couldn't be that incomprehensible to him. Once again he thought of Bulma. If she were here, should could probably just look at the thing, poke one switch and have it work for her. Sometimes Yamcha swore she worked magic, not science. He wished he'd payed more attention when she tried to explain things to him. He wished he did a lot of things differently.

Yamcha pulled out a wire covered in green rubber insulation, one in blue, one in yellow, and one in spiraled red and white. Peering with his eyes, squinting to see some of the finer parts better, he looked to see where each of them connected to the rest of the mechanism. He still couldn't figure out which wire did what, but of the four he pulled out, Yamcha had a twenty-five percent chance of pulling the right one.

He opted not to go for the red and white one. Red and white, or just red by itself tended to be Danger colors. But green was a bit to obvious. Green means 'go'. It would be to simple and easy. Goodness forbid anything in life ever be easy. That left blue or yellow. Taking a deep sigh to steady his nerves, Yamcha pinched the yellow wire where it connected to the locking mechanism and pulled.

Nothing happened.

The deep breath he'd taken came out in a gusty sigh. Nothing happened. That wasn't exactly a terrible thing. They weren't inside the shuttle yet, but they hadn't called the Saiyan guard down on themselves just yet either. Glancing back to the wires, Yamcha continued to scrutinize his options before deciding to pull the blue one. Pinching it where it connected to the door. Nothing happened then either. Then, he connected the two exposed ends to each other. Touching the naked copper wiring of the blue to the yellow.

The shuttle door slid open.

Alarms went off.

"Warning: Unauthorized shuttle entry." Announced a synthetic voice from the shuttle's outer com. The same announcement was then repeated in Saiyago, the language of the Saiyans.

"What did you do!?" Kuririn demanded.

"I opened the door!" Yamcha shouted back. "Get in!"

The two men darted inside just in time to slam the hatch shut in the face of the Saiyan guard.

Saiyans were strong. And so, when the guard banged on the shuttle's outer door, he dented it deeply enough to be seen from the inside. But the shuttle had also been designed for Saiyan strength and for space travel. To withstand great pressure differentials and high gravitational forces. So, while he could bang, and dent, and scratch the door, the hatch would not open and he could not break through without destroying the whole ship.

"You said you could fly this thing!" Kuririn reminded him.

"Its made by Capsule Corp, isn't it." Yamcha shot back. He hopped into the pilot seat and studied the controls for a moment. The labels were accommodatingly labeled in both the predominant language native to West City, as well as Saiyago. Yamcha keyed the start-up sequence as quickly as he could, while Kuririn watched the door to make sure the Saiyan guard did not get through.

"Fast is better than slow!" Kuririn shouted.

"I'm goin' as fast as I can!" Yamcha snapped. He pulled back on the control stick, and the shuttle rose a few feet in the air. Adjusting the thrusters for forward motion, Yamcha maneuvered the shuttle out of the line of other ships in the hangar and began coasting out towards the exit.

The Saiyan was still at the door, but now that they were airborne and moving, they were less worried. There was no point in being subtle now. They Saiyans knew their true objective now. Kuririn flared his ki, not caring that he would be picked up by every scouter in the area. It didn't matter so long as Eighteen or one of the others sensed him and knew that their away team had at least one Saiyan on their hull and managed to scrape him off before he could do any real damage to the ship. They would get only one chance at this and they all knew it. One chance to steal a spaceship. One chance to collect Gohan-chan.

In answer to his flared ki, the radio clipped to Kuririn's vest gave a crackle and the voice of Seventeen asked gruffly, "What's your issue?"

"Got a Saiyan knocking at our door." The former monk informed his brother-in-law.

There was a pause in which the radio channel was filled with the sound of rushing air. Then a flash of dark hair and an orange bandana streaked across the main view-port before it disappeared again. "I'm on it."

The Saiyan's pounding on the shuttle stopped and was replaced instead with the distinct sounds of a powered battle taking place just outside.

"We're clear." Kuririn announced, suddenly thinking that maybe he should take back that 'psychotic' comment he'd thrown out about Seventeen before. It was true that he and his brother-in-law didn't exactly get along. Seventeen thought Kuririn wasn't good enough for his sister and Kuririn thought Seventeen was an amoral, homicidal low-life. But even thinking that, he still had to admit that Seventeen knew what to do and how to help when on missions. He was still a good ally to have. Flicking his radio with his thumb, Kuririn said, "Thank you, Seventeen."

If Seventeen replied, Kuririn didn't hear it. Yamcha had already taken advantage of his aid and rocketed the ship out of Earth's atmosphere and out of radio reception. He probably would have brushed it off anyway. Saying something like, 'don't thank me for doing my job, idiot', or similar. Kuririn still wouldn't trust him as sole guardian of his daughter, but at least for now, he could trust those left behind to take care of his daughter. Besides, he and Yamcha had other things to worry about at the moment.

Both men gazed out the shuttle's main viewport at the vast, empty blackness ahead of them. Space. They were traveling through space. On an insane mission to recover a child that hadn't seen them in eight -almost ten- years, and might not even recognize them. Might not ever care about Earth anymore. It was a pipe-dream mission.

"You got the coordinates of where we're supposed to go?" Kuririn asked.

"Namek." Yamcha nodded. "Already punched them in. Should take about a week to get there with the kind of jump-drive this thing's got."

"A week, huh." The shorter man crossed his arms over his chest. "I guess we better get comfortable."


	8. The Healer

Dende stopped in his tracks and spun around on his heel, walking in the opposite direction.

Damn it all. Gohan usually spent a great majority of his day out and about. Away from the village, training with Goten and Trunks, wearing the boys out so that they were easier for their human mothers to deal with. But ever since that Saiyan showed up, and Bulma-san went -alone- to fix his pod, the elder hansaiya refused to let any of the weaker members of his family out of his sight. Namely, Bulma-san and his mother. The boys were trained in combat and had the power they inherited from their Saiyan fathers to protect them, so he didn't worry about them too much. But Bulma and Chichi were human and weak. So, every time Bulma went out to test a new device she cobbled together, or Chichi came into the village to gather fabric to make their clothes or produce to garnish her cooking, Gohan went with them.

It made it difficult for Dende to avoid him.

He would be walking through the village, smiling and waving 'hello' to his brothers, then turn a corner and be face-to-face with the hansaiya. Weighed down with bags of vegetables or bolts of fabric, looking grumpy and annoyed but still wary and alert. Gohan would notice him instantly. Offer an awkward smile and say something casual like, "Oh! Hey, Dende!"

And Dende would have to respond. Couldn't pretend he hadn't seen or heard Gohan at all. So, he would stammer something awkward like, "Oh, hi… You're not with the little ones today."

And Gohan would shake his head and remind him of the recent visit by the Saiyan and how Bulma-san got it into her head that it was a good idea to just rush off with him. Fly far away from the village where help couldn't reach her, then just let him go knowing where they lived. Now that the Saiyans knew where they were, Gohan was always on edge. He didn't show it often. Just looking at him from the outside, you wouldn't know that he was nervous and worried. Afraid that any day now a whole squad of pods would drop from the clear green skies and lay waste to the planet, killing those that gave them shelter and dragging Gohan and the little ones back to Vegeta-sei to be killed publicly. But Dende saw it. He and Gohan were to close for Dende not to know his mind and true thoughts. His heart was still a bit of a mystery. But the Namekian sorcerer knew his mind.

"No, Piccolo-san agreed to take them for me." Gohan would reply casually, as if nothing was wrong. "That way I can help Mom carry her shopping. Can you imagine her trying to drag all this stuff back to the house by herself?"

She'd done it before. But Dende never reminded him of that fact. Instead, he would give an awkward laugh and comment on how good a son Gohan was and that Chichi and Bulma-san were lucky to have him.

But Dende didn't feel like going through any of that today. The moment he sensed his alien-brother's ki around the corner, Dende stopped and turned around, walking in the opposite direction. Ever since he asked Gohan to be his Life Partner, and the hansaiya had subsequently rejected the proposal, Dende had no idea how to act around him. Gohan was different than his other water-brothers. Not just because he was literally different -another species from them, an alien- but because now he had no idea how to behave around him.

Before it had been easy. Sure, he might have felt uncommonly attached to Gohan, more so than his other brothers. But at least then Gohan didn't know it and so there wasn't this great big shadow hanging over them whenever they spoke. But now. Since Dende's proposal and Gohan's rejection, they still attempted to behave as they always had, but they were just avoiding a subject, and they both knew it. It made speaking with Gohan damn near impossible. It was hard enough just seeing him after his rejection.

Until he was able to sort out his own feelings and adjust to the one he wanted not wanting him in the same way, Dende tried his best to avoid the hansaiya.

But it was getting damn hard now. He already exhausted all his easy excuses for not going up to their house and sharing water with the family. And it was even harder to come up with reasons on the fly to get away from Gohan when they bumped into each other in the village.

Dende didn't know what he was going to do. But he did know one thing for sure. This couldn't go on forever.

…

The solution to all his problems presented itself one day.

It was a clear summer's day. Not a cloud in the sky. Not even the thin whisky ones high up in the atmosphere. A perfect green sky.

Dende was asleep at the time, but was quickly woken by a commotion outside. Stumbling out of bed he stuck his head out the open doorway of his house to ask what the fuss was all about. The closest of his brothers didn't say anything, he just pointed up in the sky. Curious and confused, Dende followed his finger. That was when he saw it.

High, high up in the atmosphere. Very small and hard to see. Visible only by its exhaust trail. Was what was unmistakably a space ship. It was far to high up in the sky for it to be anything but. No animal could fly at that altitude and survive -except maybe Gohan or another strong warrior with a high ki.

Gohan!

With only one thought in his mind now, Dende darted from his house and out of the village, still wearing only his sleep-pants. This was it. This was the attack Gohan had feared. The attack he worried about since the day Bulma-san let that Saiyan go. Dende wanted to be there to support him. Their friendship might be a little shaky at the moment. Their meetings awkward. But Gohan was still his brother, and if his brother needed a healer, then Dende would be there.

They were just walking out the door when Dende came running up to it. Gohan, Goten, and Trunks. Each with a pack thrown over their backs. Dende didn't know quite what they were planning. But he did know one thing.

"I'll fight with you!" He shouted.

Gohan turned to blink at him. Confusion lightening his dark eyes which, just a moment before, looked so severe and serious. The confusion didn't surprise him. Even if their relationship wasn't on shaky ground, Dende was no warrior. He was a sorcerer, a scholar. Book-worm. Weakling. But he could heal, and in a battle, a healer was an invaluable resource. Especially to a Saiyan or a hansaiya whom became stronger every time they recovered from damage. If Dende could help Gohan in any way, he would.

"Mommy says we're not allowed to fight." Little Goten informed him, looking disappointed and chastised.

At the boy's side, Trunks crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. "T'ch. Mama and Chichi-san think that just because we're little kids, we must be weaklings. I'm sure I could beat any nasty old Saiyans that threaten my Mama."

Dende had to do a double take. Wait. They weren't going to fight. But, Gohan had been worried about this very event since the moment Bulma-san let that Saiyan go. He had been preparing for a large battle. He was ready for this fight. Not that Dende was disappointed or anything thing, but… If he wasn't going to fight, what was he planning to do.

As if sensing his water-brother's confusion, Gohan placed a hand on each of the younger ones' heads to quiet them down and explained, "Mom and Bulma-san decided that, since the only one that Tarble met was her, that the rest of us should just suppress our ki and hide. Tarble doesn't know about us, so he couldn't of told anyone else. He just knows about Bulma-san and Trunks."

"But Mama's making me hide with them anyway." The lavender hair boy added dejectedly. He scowled up at Gohan as if glaring at the older boy could somehow overturn his mother's decision. "Its stupid. I'm strong enough to fight!"

Even with the alien ship bearing down on them, Dende couldn't help but smile at the young hansaiya's bravado. The Namekian sorcerer didn't know much about Saiyans, mostly just what Gohan told him, but from what he could tell, the Saiyan blood ran strong in that boy -more so than in Gohan or Goten.

"Don't think of it like that." Gohan told him. "Think of it like we're conserving our strength so that we can take them by surprise if we need to. Like when we go hunting on the Grass Plains. Surprise attacks."

The lavender haired boy just muttered something rude under his breath and said no more.

It was probably for the best that the conversation ended right there, because the very next moment Chichi came striding out of the house carrying what might possibly have been half of the kitchen. She dumped most of it onto Gohan. "I don't know how long we'll need to stay hidden, so I'm bringing a few necessities." She explained, looking up at the ship in the sky which had grown much larger in their field of vision as it descended closer to the ground. "We don't have much time. We better get going. I hope Bulma will be alright on her own."

"Piccolo-san said he'd keep a watch on her." Gohan assured his mother.

Then Dende found himself offering, "I can stay with her, too!"

They all looked back at him. Chichi blinked as if noticing him for the first time. "Oh, Dende-kun! I haven't seen you in so long! How come you never come by anymore? Why don't you come with us and we can share water while we catch up!? I want to hear all about your studies. Back on Earth, I wanted to Gohan to grow up to be a scholar so much! But, well… things happened. Maybe after this-"

"Mom! Time!" Gohan reminded her, giving Dende an awkward and apologetic smile.

"Right! Right! Come on, boys, Dende."

"Ah, thank you, Chichi-san. But I think if Bulma-san is about to be invaded by Saiyans all alone, she might need my healing skills a bit more. At least at the moment." And he really wasn't sure if he could handle hiding out in what would probably be close quarters with Gohan just yet. His proposal and his rejection was weeks old, but it was still a raw wound and needed a bit more time to heal. Time and distance.

"Oh." Chichi nodded her understanding. She grabbed Goten and Trunks by the hands and lead them away.

Before Gohan followed after her, he paused long enough to grab Dende by the hands. "Listen. I know things are weird between us, but I said you're still my brother and I mean it. We'll recover from this and share water again. I have faith in that. Take all the time that you need. I'll be waiting with a full cup. It'll be okay."

Damn it all! That. That right there was one of the reasons why Dende loved him so damn much! That stupid, naive, but endearing, pure-heart and endless kindness. It was all Dende could do to nod.

Gohan nodded back then dashed after his mother and the younger ones. Then Dende turned and walked inside the house.

Bulma-san was sitting at their table, a cup of water in her hands. She looked up when he entered.

"Dende." She gave a nervous smile. "This might become a dangerous place to be pretty soon. I don't think you want to be here."

He took the seat opposite her at the table. Gently pulling the cup from her hands, he sipped it and said, "This is exactly the place I want to be."

He passed the cup back to her.

This time her smile wasn't nervous, but one of camaraderie -even mischief. She accepted the cup back from him and took a sip of her own. "Hail the victorious dead."

Dende blinked at her in confusion. He'd never heard one of them say that phrase before. "What does that mean?"

"Its something the Saiyans say when they drink." She explained. "Or right before they go into battle. Kind of like a cheer."

"It sounds awful!"

Bulma shrugged. "You just need to understand their world." Then she quickly changed the subject. "Why are you avoiding Gohan? And don't tell me you've been to busy. Please. I've gotten into enough trouble in my day to recognize an excuse when I hear one. Did you two have a fight or something?"

The young sorcerer paused, considering his answer. He didn't really want to talk about this. He hadn't even told his father or brother that he'd asked their alien water-brother to be his Life Partner. But Bulma-san was by far the most knowledgeable person in the village when it came to the subject of partners. If he understood the stories correctly, she had even once gone on a journey to find her perfect Life Partner -or something like that. Maybe he could confide in her.

"Gohan and I aren't fighting." He explained. "I asked him to be my Partner, and he said no."

"Ah." Bulma nodded. She refilled the water cup and passed it to the young sorcerer.

"You do not seem surprised." He observed.

She smiled sardonically. "I thought something like this would happen eventually. Granted, I thought it would be a few more years down the line and you and Gohan would be a bit older. But I still think its safe to say that I totally called it."

That was not comforting, reassuring, or even sympathetic. Dende averted his eyes and sipped the water.

"Look, I can tell you that its was for the best, and that you are too young for that kind of commitment right now, and that you'll eventually get over what you're feeling right now. And while all that might be true, I also know it won't change how you're feeling right now one iota." She told him bluntly. "So, what I'm gonna do instead, is remind you that the world is bigger than that. Whatever romantic problems a person might be struggling with, its still not as bad as other things. Take right now for example, we're waiting to be invaded by cruel space warriors and probably won't have the time to waste worrying about romantic problems very soon. We'll be to busy trying to wrap our guts back up in our open bellies."

"How colorful." He passed the cup back to her. Then asked, "Bulma-san, why did you trust the Saiyan enough to let him go?"

She sipped the water, then placed the cup back down on the table softly. She then withdrew an alien device from her trowser pocket. After a moment's scrutiny, he eventually recognized it as one of those things that Gohan's grandfather Bardock used to wear over his ear and eye. What was is called again? A scorer? A scouter? "He wasn't like a normal Saiyan." She explained. "I've met non-evil Saiyans before. He reminded me a bit of a mix of two such non-evil Saiyans. The first was Son-kun -Son Goku- Gohan and Goten's father. The other he reminded me of was Vegeta -Trunks' father. He didn't like the way the Saiyans do things, asked me to help him change it. Gave me his scouter. I thought I could trust him to keep the secret of my location. But I guess he ran and told Vegeta instead."

"I see." Dende nodded. "I guess that's what they mean when they say, 'never trust a Saiyan'." Then he paused, thinking. "Bulma-san, how common a name is 'Vegeta' among Saiyans?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Just something that Piccolo-san mentioned once. That 'Vegeta' was the name of the Saiyan King."

She smiled ironically. "Yes. Vegeta is the King of All Saiyans. But at the time that I knew him, he was just the Prince."

"So, that means that Trunks is-"

"Trunks is my son." She reminded him.

"I was going to say 'in more danger than Gohan or Goten if he's discovered'." Dende finished.

They lapsed into silence after that. Bulma not wanting to think about what might or might not happen if the Saiyans ever discovered her son -their King's bastard. If they killed the children of common soldiers for polluting the Saiyan bloodlines, what would they do to a hansaiya of royal blood? What would they do to the bastard that polluted the King's bloodline? She was glad Trunks was safely hidden. With Gohan to keep a leash on that temper of his. That damn short temper, so much like his father… Sometimes -more often than she readily admitted- Bulma missed him.

But that chapter of her life was over. Vegeta was a thing of her past.

Passing the cup of water between them. Drinking. Refilling it when it was drained. They were, both of them, becoming nervous and impatient.

Finally, Bulma said, "I can't take it! I'm going down to the village. Chances are they'll go there first anyway. Its better to just turn myself into them then put our brothers in danger. Besides, I think I'd prefer to go out and meet my death rather than wait for it to come to me." A rueful smile. She rubbed the scar on her shoulder. "Maybe a bit of Saiyan has rubbed off on me."

Dende stood. "I'll go with you."

Together, they left the house and walked to the village. The ship had only just landed on the far side of Ighai by the time they arrived. The elder was already there, waiting at the ledge of the gangplank. Bulma couldn't see them, there were to many of her brothers in the way. All she saw was a wall of green shoulders or backs clothed in home-spun fabrics. But, she clearly heard the village Elder when he spoke.

"Have you come seeking our Dragon Balls?" It was the standard question that all Elders asked whenever a stranger came to their village, regardless of whether or not they already knew the visitor's true purpose. The village's Dragon Ball must always be the Elder's priority.

What shocked Bulma was the visitor's reply. "You have a working set of Dragon Balls here!? Really? Truly!?"

That voice! She knew that voice! Bulma couldn't see him. There were to many people in the way, but she knew that voice and he was no Saiyan! Standing next to Dende, she shouted, "Kuririn!"

Dende jumped at her outburst. He didn't know what she said, he'd never heard that word before. It wasn't a Saiyan word, that much he was certain. Others of the crowd also turned to look at her, confusion clear on their faces. Slowly, they parted to let her through. It was then that they got their first clear look at the strangers that had come from the Saiyan shuttle.

They did not look how Dende imagined Saiyans to look. Yes, they did both have black hair, but that was about where the similarities to the descriptions he'd heard ended. Neither of them wore armor. Instead, both were clothed in matching orange dogi, with a symbol over the left breast. A uniform then. They carried themselves like fighters, but held none of the aggression or malice that Dende expected to see in a Saiyan. In fact, their auras were more awed and confused than anything else. Then, of course, there was the fact that neither of them had a tail. So… they weren't Saiyans then. They just happened to come in a Saiyan ship. How odd.

"Bulma!?" They both shouted as seeing her.

The taller of the two went slack-jawed, his mouth dropping open in shock before he rushed forward and swept her up into his arms.

"Yamcha!?" She exclaimed.

"You're alive!" And it sounded like he sobbed a little.

"What's going on?" Asked the shorter one.

Bulma-san attempted to pry herself away from the one holding her long enough to look at the other. "Ohmygosh! Kuririn, you've got hair!"

Whoever these people were, two things were certain. They were not Saiyans, and Bulma-san knew them.

"Yeah… My wife didn't like the baled look to much…"

"Wife!?" Bulma blinked in abject shock. "Wait, wait, wait. Wife!? You got married! When? Who? How? Why? Ohmygosh! You've got to tell me all about it!"

But before another word could be uttered from either party, the Elder stepped in, clearing his throat. "Pardon me, Brother-Bulma, but can we assume that these strangers are not the danger we've been looking for this past cycle?"

"Oh! Oh, right!" Bulma blinked bright blue eyes at the Elder. "Sorry. Everyone, this is Yamcha and Kuririn from Earth. They're friends from my home planet. We don't have water sharing on Earth, but if we did, they would be my water-brothers."

The tension and apprehension melted out of the crowd. These new people might be strange visitors from an alien planet, but they were brothers to one of their own. The strangers, Kuririn and Yamcha, were invited into the Elder's house so that the tale that brought them here could be told in comfort.

Dende thought about going to find Gohan and the others to tell them that it was a false alarm. There were no Saiyans, but instead his brothers from Earth. But now that the hansaiya's life was no longer being threatened, the young sorcerer found that he didn't really want to see him as much anymore. That same feeling of self-conscious inadequacy welled back up inside him. He didn't want to face Gohan.

Someone patted his shoulder in an almost comforting action. Dende looked up to see Piccolo at his side. The older man gave one of those knowing half-smiles of his that always made the young sorcerer believe he knew more than he was letting on. "I'll go get the others." He said. "You go inside and share water with Bulma."

The younger Namekian hesitated a moment. He was being stupid and cowardly. But he just couldn't face Gohan if his life wasn't in danger. Not yet anyway. Eventually he would move past this, Dende was sure. But, as Bulma-san had said, he needed to come to it in his own time. Right now, he just wasn't ready to face Gohan. So, Dende nodded to Piccolo, offering a soft 'thank you' and ducked inside the Elder's house and elbowed his way to a seat close to Bulma-san.

She was explaining water sharing to her brothers from Earth as the Elder took out a vase of water and began filling the cup. Dende noted that the visitors looked more confused than anything else. He wasn't surprised. It had taken Gohan and Chichi-san quite some time to fully understand just how significant the sharing of water was and how it bonded two people as brothers. Now, Gohan understood it as deeply as any native son of Namek. Understood it and believed in it. As he said the day of his rejection, 'I will always share water with you, Dende. You are my brother.'

Dende shook his head. He didn't want to think about that day right now. Instead he focused his attention on Bulma-san and how she explained the sharing of water to her brothers from Earth.

She sipped the water slowly. Then turned the cup in her hands seven times, explaining with each turn. "After you drink, spin the cup once for each of the Namekian virtues. 'Shokh' which means Truth, because only the truth can be spoken over water. It is the first of the Seven Virtues, and also always the first to be forgotten or ignored. 'Urvish', Peace, because without peace one cannot have a happy home. 'Zhguzhor' is Imagination, because without creativity there can be no progress. 'Ighai' means Purity and is also the name of this clan. 'Tahrao' is Justice, because one must always be just and fair with his brothers, even when they are fighting. 'Shahrrehth' , Hope, but in our language can more accurately be translated as 'optimism', because everything will be right between brothers in the end. And finally, 'Zehdh' which means Family, Home, and Belonging, which is what water sharing is all about. To share water with someone is to accept them as your family."

Listening to Bulma-san explain, Dende couldn't help but avert his eyes and think of Gohan. Of the little white lie he told after his rejection -he violated shokh. Gohan clearly wanted things to be fine between them, but Dende wasn't giving him the time of day, it was very unfair of him -he was violating tahrao. He broke two of the Virtues while sharing water. Dende was ashamed of himself.

"Wow, so this is, like, heavy stuff." The shorter one, Kuririn, commented.

Bulma nodded, offering the cup to him. "Yeah. It took me some getting used to. Basically, if you and another person drink from the same cup, you're like family. So, you should only drink with someone you could consider a brother."

"I'll drink!" The other one, Yamcha, announced. He took the cup from Kuririn and gulped it down enthusiastically. "I can't believe you're alive. I thought you were dead and that I'd never see you again. Now that we're back together, I want things to be different, Bulma. I'll be different. Better. I promise."

"Uh…" Bulma-san looked awkward. "Things are different, Yamcha."

Dende regarded them both curiously. He didn't know much about Earthling relationships, but he got the feeling that there might have at one time been something more than just water sharing between Bulma-san and Yamcha. They reminded him a little bit of how he and Gohan were now acting towards each other. But Yamcha and Bulma hadn't seen each other in many of their count of years, surely they would have put their relationship problems behind them by now? Or did humans dwell on things longer? Gohan said he wanted things to go back to the way they were, but would they?

Kuririn spoke, breaking the odd and unfamiliar tension between the other two. "We've gone through the Red Ribbon Army together, you were there when we fought against the Crain School, and supported us against the first Demon King Piccolo. You're already like my sister, Bulma. I'll drink to that."

She smiled. "Now, you have to tell me all about this wife of yours!"

"Well…"

But before the diminutive Earthling could say more, Piccolo arrived with Gohan. Chichi and the younger ones in tow.

"Is it true?" Asked the hansaiya as the crowd parted enough for him to slip through. Dende looked away when Gohan past him, stopping in his tracks, staring at the visitors from Earth. "You… you kinda look like Kuririn-san and Yamcha-san…"

Kuririn smiled up at him and stood. "Its okay if you don't remember us." He said. "You were really young at the time. We're friends of your dad. Wow! You look almost just like him -but with better hair."

At Dende's side, Bulma-san hid a snort of laughter behind her hand.

"Uh, thank you?" Gohan's cheeks colored in that way that humans did when they didn't know what to say. Dende loved the way Gohan's skin colored.

"Kuririn, is that you!?" Chichi-san pushed her way through the crowd to see the visitors. "What's that on your head? I always thought you were naturally baled."

Now it was the short one's turn to color with embarrassment. "No. I just kept it well waxed."

The two younger hansaiya darted around them curiously. Examining their matching orange dogi, glaring up at Yamcha and staring at almost eye level with Kuririn.

"You don't have tails." Goten observed. "I thought Saiyans had tails."

"That's because they're not Saiyans, dummy." Trunks supplied as if this should have been obvious. "C'mon, Chibi, you heard him say they were friends of your dad's. Your dad never had any Saiyan friends. He was an Earthling."

"Oh. That's right." The younger boy smiled happily.

Both Kuririn and Yamcha's eyes went wide at seeing Goten. Kuririn pointing and stammering, "M-my gosh! He looks even more like Goku than Gohan does!"

"Huh? Wuh?" Goten looked around himself wildly to try and figure out who they were talking about. Then after a scoff from Trunks, he realized that they must be talking about him. Apparently, he looked even more like their dad than his Oniichan did. Goten was a little slow, but he was cute. Dende found his absentmindedness endearing.

Then, Yamcha pointed to Trunks and asked, "Bulma, who's this kid?"

The lavender haired hansaiya glared up at the taller visitor.

Bulma-san inched forward and wrapped her arms around the boy, pulling him back against her. "Yamcha, this is Trunks. He's my son."

If his eyes had gone wide when he saw Goten, then they practically popped out of his head when Bulma said that. His eyes bugged-out. His mouth fell open. His shoulders sagged. He gapped at her in abject shock.

"Wow. Bulma with a kid." Commented Kuririn. "I never would have thought."

Then, Yamcha stuttered, "Is- is he… m-mine?"

Bulma's laughter rang our high and clear. Full of amusement at the idea. Yamcha just stared at her, not knowing how to interpret that.

To be completely honest, Dende wasn't sure what the man was asking. It was clear by his body language and attitude that he and Bulma-san had once been very close water-brothers, maybe at some point one or the other might have considered becoming Partners. But Yamcha had not lived on Namek with them these past cycles -eight of their Terran years- and so Dende couldn't imagine what type of claim the Earthling might have on Bulma's son.

Then, Bulma-san answered, "No, Yamcha, he's mine."

"Well- well, yeah. But we- I mean, is he-? Were you-? And I-? That is to say, uh-"

Dende had no idea what he was stammering about. He didn't know enough about humans and Earthlings to begin to even hazard a guess as to why Trunks seemed to make Yamcha so uncomfortable. He was about to ask the alien visitor just what the problem was, when Chichi came to the man's rescue.

Placing one hand on the man's shoulder, she said, "I think this is a conversation best had at our own house over a large vase of water."

"Or maybe something stronger." Bulma nodded.

"Yeah." Kuririn agreed, also nodding. "What we came here for is something better suited to be discussed behind closed doors."

"Ah! But we don't have any doors!" Goten exclaimed, looking worried. "Is that bad?"

Still in his mother's arms, Trunks just shook his head. "No, dummy, he means he doesn't want the rest of our brothers to hear what they have to say."

"Oh." The miniature-Goku smiled with understanding. This his expression turned bothered. "But why?"

Piccolo placed a pacifying hand on the youngest hansaiya's head. "The rest of the village might be our brothers, and we trust them, Goten. But Kuririn and Yamcha don't know them. They only know us. So, while we know that they can say whatever they need to tell us in front of the village as easily as in private, it would make them feel more comfortable if they went to your home to talk."

"Oh." The boy said again.

Then the village elder nodded, once again taking command of the gathering. "We understand." He said. "And do not wish to make the visitors from Earth uncomfortable during their stay. Take all the time that you need. I'm sure our human brothers will fill us in later if it is something that affects the whole village." A pause. Then, speaking much more causally, voice heavy with relief. "I'm so glad they weren't Saiyans, after all."

Uncoiling her arms from her son, Bulma stood. Taking the boy by the hand instead. She smiled at Kuririn and Yamcha. "Its this way."

The visitors followed her out of the elder's house. Chichi likewise taking her younger son by the hand and soon followed. Then Piccolo, probably curious for news from his first home-world. Finally, it was only Gohan that lagged behind. Dende averted his eyes. He wished the hansaiya left with the others. He had no idea what to say or how to act around him anymore.

The rest of the villagers also dispersed. They no longer needed to fear an attack by the strangers and nothing else of interest was going on anymore. They all returned to their business. Soon, it was just Dende and Gohan alone in the elder's house.

An awkward silence stretched between them.

Then, "Thank you."

Dende looked up. Confused.

Gohan's cheeks colored again in that way that humans color when they are unsure of what to say. "For… for offering to fight with me. I know you're still upset. But the fact that you're still willing to stand-up with me means a lot. I… I want you to come home with me. Listen to what Yamcha and Kuririn have to say with me. Its been years since I've seen my father's friends. I barely know them really, and… and I'd like my brother there with me."

In all honesty, Dende did not want to go. The visitors had nothing to do with him and he still felt awkward and uncomfortable around Gohan. He still wanted to put some distance between himself and his water-brother. To be completely honest, some days, Dende wished he could just disappear to another planet. One where Gohan wasn't around to remind him of his rejection and broken heart all the time. Time and distance. That was what Dende needed.

But, to spite all that, the Namekian sorcerer still found himself saying, "Sure. Lets go."

…

At the Son-Briefs home, Dende sat quietly, staring into the cup of water that had stopped being passed around and somehow landed in front of him.

The tale Kuririn and Yamcha told was desperate and bleak.

A world under the control of the Saiyans. The natives forced to work as slaves stripping their own planet of its vital resources to feed the never ending greed of the monarchy. A small resistance group fighting to combat the alien encroachment, but they were few and weak. Only a hand-full of fighters were actually capable of challenging a Saiyan warrior and the rest were just well-meaning cannon fodder. They needed strong warriors to combat their evil overlords. Strong warriors. Or just one Hero. A hero like the son of their late hero, Son Goku. They wanted Gohan.

Dende had mixed feelings about that.

On the one hand, what he said to the hansaiya during his doomed proposal still rang true. He wanted Gohan to remain here always. Stay on Namek with him. If not as a Life Partner like he wanted, then at least like the brother that Gohan proclaimed himself to be. But, at the same time, Dende was glad to see him go. After his doomed proposal, speaking to the hansaiya became difficult. Heck! Just seeing him was difficult some days. Maybe the time and distance between them would be just what the young sorcerer needed to finally finish coping with Gohan's rejection and move on with his life.

The room was silent as Kuririn finished his tale and all eyes turned to Gohan.

The hansaiya was quiet a long moment. Arms crossed over his chest. Eyes looking down, but unfocused, seeing nothing. He was deep in sober thought. Dende was torn. He didn't want his brother to leave. But at the same time, he couldn't stand to be around him anymore. Gohan's homeworld was suffering. His mother-people needed his help and his power. But it had been almost a decade since he last set foot on that planet. He knew no one there. Had no personal stake in the matter. Here he was surrounded by brothers whom cared for and supported him. But, Dende knew that Gohan would go.

He was to pure-hearted and caring for others not to be moved by the Earthling's suffering and respond to their need. Even if Earth weren't his mother-world and Kuririn and Yamcha were instead complete stranger to him, he would agree to help them. It was just the way he was. It was one of the reasons why Dende cared so much for him.

Standing from his seat at the table, Dende took the water cup and offered it to Gohan. He didn't want him to go. But he also couldn't stand it if he stayed. But no matter what happened or what Gohan decided, Dende would support him.

Gohan accepted the cup. They hadn't shared water since that day. He offered the Namekian sorcerer a hesitant smile then drank. Sipping slowly at first, then gulping it down with more hast.

When the cup was empty, Gohan set it down on the table gently and said, "I'm sorry."

"Its okay." Dende responded. "I guess, somehow, I always knew you'd be leaving again when the time came."

Gohan looked up confused. "Huh? No. I'm sorry, Kuririn, Yamcha. I won't be going back to Earth."

"What!?"

Five voices echoed the same question. Kuririn, Yamcha, Dende, Bulma, even Chichi were startled by his confession.

Not meeting anyone's eyes, he explained, "These past eight years have been so peaceful. We've been safe. Mom, my little brother, Bulma, Trunks… If I go to Earth then I risk exposing all of them. Recently… recently, Namek was visited by a single Saiyan. Luckily, he didn't discover Mom or Goten, but he met Bulma and he knows about Trunks. If he told anyone else, and I leave, then that leaves Mom, Bulma and the kids unprotected and vulnerable. I'm sorry, guys, but I just can't go with you."

The room was silent. Starring at him.

Then Trunks scoffed. "T'ch. What are Goten and I? Chopped fish? I'm strong enough to protect my own Mama!"

"Not yet, little man." Bulma reminded her impetuous and overconfident son.

Yamcha ruffled the boy's lavender hair. "I'm sure you're well trained with both Gohan and Piccolo as masters. Maybe we can have a spar before I leave." Trunks pushed the man's hand off his head and glared up at him before moving to place Goten between them. Yamcha seemed to brush off the slight rejection and instead continued, speaking to Gohan now, "But Gohan, think of all the innocent and helpless people on Earth. They're suffering unprotected under the Saiyans' rule. Think of all the good you can do for them if you come with us."

Dende thought about it.

"I understand that, Yamcha." Gohan assured him. "But my first priority is to my family."

"You're father wouldn't have hesitated." Yamcha pressed. "He would have jumped to help those in need!"

Gohan looked down at the empty water cup. Probably thinking about his father, Dende decided.

It was Kuririn that finally broke the silence. Placing a sympathetic hand on the hansaiya's shoulder. "I understand." He said. "I've got a family back home too, and I'm always worrying about them. I am terrified that my wife or I aren't gonna come back from a mission and our daughter will be left alone in the world. But, Gohan, you can't let that stop you from doing what's right. I'm afraid to die. And I'm afraid my wife will die. And I'm afraid my daughter will be raised by her insane uncle, or worse, abandoned. But more than that, I'm afraid of my little girl having to grow up in a world where she's a slave to an evil alien dictatorship. I worry for my family, but I also want to make a better future for them. That's why I fight -even though I don't have the strength to do much."

Gohan looked torn.

"Of course, you have to do what you think is best." Kuririn continued. "Yamcha and I can't force you to do anything."

"I know."

Yeah. Dende would like to see someone force Gohan to do anything he didn't want to do. Gohan was by far the strongest warrior the Namekian sorcerer had ever met. No one 'forced' Gohan to do anything.

Then his thoughts turned towards the people of Earth, suffering under the Saiyan's subjugation. He didn't know much about them really. The only humans Dende had ever met were Bulma and Chichi -and now Kuririn and Yamcha, of course. But they were one of Gohan's peoples and they needed help. Dende wasn't a warrior, but…

He didn't want Gohan to leave Namek, but at the same time, he wanted to put some distance between them…

Surprising himself, Dende announced, "I'll go."

Now all eyes turned to him.

"I… I'm not a fighter." He continued. "I don't know how much help I can actually be. But I'm a healer. I can heal your people. Humans and hansaiya are different from my own people, but I've had lots of practice with Gohan and the younger ones, and a little bit with Bulma-san and Chichi-san. I can't fight on the front lines, but I can be a helpful support person. I'll help you!"

There was a beat of silence.

Then, "Are you insane!?"

Gohan stood from his seat. His hand knocking the empty water cup, causing it to fall from the table with a loud clatter. He starred at the Namekian sorcerer.

Dende faltered under that ebony glare. "I… I think its the right thing to do. Since you won't go, I will. I can't fight, but I can still help."

"You'll die!" Gohan told him flatly. Just a plain statement of fact. "The Saiyans will kill you and throw your body away. You'll die far from home, surrounded by strangers who won't know to commit your body to water or pass a cup over your eyes. Is that really what you want?"

Not sure what to say to that, Dende just looked at his feet. "I just… think I should go. It's… its not like I have much reason to stay, after all."

"Oh. So that's what this is." Gohan scoffed. "This is your solution. Go to war. Its not the French Foreign Legion, Dende. It won't make you feel any better. You won't be able to help anyone. You'll just die! They'll kill you and I'll never see you again!"

Dende had no idea what the 'French Foreign Legion' was but he got the gist of what Gohan was saying. Leaving home and going off to help complete strangers fight a war on an alien planet far from home wouldn't help him forget his pain over Gohan's rejection. Even so, Dende knew he wouldn't get over it staying here either. Why not try and help those in need?

"I'm going." He repeated, moving to stand beside Kuririn. "And you have no authority to stop me, Gohan."

Yamcha and Kuririn look between Dende and Gohan with confusion, not understanding what exactly was going on between them.

Gohan growled with anger and displeasure. The more feral side of his Saiyan nature bleeding through the calm exterior he usually wore. For the first time, Dende found himself wondering if the hansaiya might use his more than considerable strength to make Dende submit to him.

Then Piccolo came up beside him, placing a pacifying hand on Gohan's shoulder. "Let him go."

The hansaiya snarled something wordlessly and turned his back on everyone, walking out of the dinning room, reminding Dende a bit more of his grandfather, Bardock, then his usual self. "You'll die."

…

Kuririn and Yamcha stayed on Namke for what was measured to be three Terran days.

During that time, Yamcha learned that Trunks' father was not himself but a Saiyan. This seemed to distress him greatly, but Dende couldn't understand why. Another part of mammalian habits and culture that he just couldn't fathom. Perhaps living and fighting beside them on Earth would help the young sorcerer understand. Maybe then he would have a better understanding of Gohan.

Bulma-san and Kuririn swapped gossip about people they used to know on Earth. Names that meant little to Dende but seemed of great importance to them. Bulma was ecstatic to hear about Kuririn's wife and child and Kuririn was willing and eager to show her pictures, glowing with pride as she ooh'd and ah'd over them.

All four of them, Yamcha, Kuririn, Bulma, and Chichi all shared their favorite stories of Gohan and Goten's father. Sharing water together and laughing about how he couldn't tell the difference between males and females for a very long time. Or how he thought that 'marriage' -the Earthling word for Life Partners- was a type of food. Training, tournaments, battles with demons, monsters, would-be Emperors… Dende would have liked to have met him. Gohan's father sounded like a fun person to be around.

Gohan, for his part, spent those three days avoiding Dende. Or mumbling and grumbling with displeasure whenever someone mentioned Earth or Dende's eminent departure.

Bulma refueled their shuttle. The village provided enough vegetables to keep it well stocked for the humans until they reached their home. -Dende would require only water.- And the two younger hansaiya were kind enough to share one of their recent kills with the humans. A giant crab. They gave Kuririn and Yamcha each a giant crab leg to eat on their journey home.

Finally, it was time to go.

Dende packed everything he thought he would need. A couple spare tunics and a spare robe. Sleep pants. Undergarments. His magic books, of course. Basic hygiene supplies.

Packing everything into his bag, the Partner Ties he made fell out of the pocket of one of his robes. He paused, piking them up from where they fell. Dende's first impulse was to just go ahead and throw them away. But something stopped him. He wasn't sure what. He made them for himself and Gohan, but Gohan would never be his Life Partner. In fact, he probably wouldn't live long enough to find another Partner. Gohan was right. He probably would die. He might as well just throw them away. But for some reason he didn't. Instead, Dende placed the twin bracelets back in his pocket.

Ready to go, he met up with the Earthlings at their spaceship.

It was just as they were climbing up the shuttle's gangplank that someone behind them shouted, "Wait!"

All three turned to see Gohan descending from the sky, a travel bag of his own thrown over his shoulder.

"Gohan!" Yamcha exclaimed.

"You decided to come after all!" Kuririn smiled.

Gohan looked only at Dende when he said, "I said my first priority was to my family and you're my brother, Dende. If you're determined to do this… Then I'll protect you until you're ready to come home."

The Namekian sorcerer's heart swelled. He still wasn't quite recovered from the rejection of his proposal yet, but it was a comfort to know that Gohan still cared for him- even if he didn't want to be Partners. Dende still felt like he needed his space. But, at the same time, if he was going to run off to an unfamiliar alien planet to fight in someone else's war, there was no one else he wanted at his side.

"That's good enough for us!" Kuririn slapped the hansaiya on the back. "I'm not sure just how we're gonna feed you on the trip back. I guess we'll all just have to tighten our belts a little."

"Then stop talking and lets go."

They all jumped at the sound of Piccolo's voice.

"Piccolo-san!" Gohan beamed up at his master. "You're coming with us?"

The former Demon King only nodded.

"Piccolo, daisuki!" And Gohan hugged the larger man. Piccolo only sighed in resignation. No matter how old the hansaiya got, it seemed he would never outgrow that particular behavior.

"Wow… Goku's son and Demon King Jr…" Kuririn mused.

"Yeah!" Yamcha smiled. "Those Saiyans won't know what hit 'em!"


	9. The Seer

Far off. In the space that boarders the territories of the Saiyan monarchy and the Ice-jin Empire, there is a single, lonely white dwarf star. Orbiting this white dwarf star is a single, lonely planet. The only one in it's star system. With only a small silver moon for company.

Once, it was called Kanassa. Home to a race of -supposedly- psychic or clairvoyant beings. Whether that was true or not, it didn't matter, it did not stop the Kanassan race from being wiped from the universe. Erased in a single night. During their full moon a squad of Saiyans attacked and when the blue sun rose over the stained landscape, only the squad of murderers stood.

No one lived there now.

At least, to the best of the monarchy's knowledge, Kanassa was a dead world. Uninhabited. Not even colonized.

But there was someone who did live there.

Bardock the Seer withdrew to Kanassa after leaving his Weapon in the capable hands of the Earth-born Namekian Piccolo. Even if he hadn't already seen things to come, the seasoned Saiyan warrior could tell instantly that the self-proclaimed Demon King Jr. was a far more fitting mentor for his Weapon against the Vegeta Dynasty than Bardock himself. Under his own tutelage, Gohan would grow strong and become a skilled fighter, but Bardock did not know how to instill the appropriate temperament the boy would need to be the instrument of his revenge against the monarchy. Piccolo, on the other hand, was the perfect master for him. Under the Namekian's tutelage, Gohan would still grow strong and become a skilled fighter, but he would also gain that indistinct and ephemeral something that would make him even stronger.

Even with his curse of clairvoyance -a punishment from the final survivor of the Kanassan massacre- Bardock still wasn't quite sure what it was. Kakarot had it. His younger son whom had grown up on an alien planet far from Vegeta-sei and the monarchy's influence. Bardock saw how it made him different. Saw the difference probably better than anyone else in the monarchy had. He saw what was, and he saw what could have been. If things had happened differently…

In another world… In another time… That strange and ephemeral something that made Kakarot different would have also opened a channel for him to become the second coming of the Legendary.

If he hadn't been executed for desertion and siring a hansaiya, Kakarot could have become the next Legendary. Bardock could have been the father of the Legendary.

But that future was gone. Cut short by a trick of the present. Opening the channel for a new and different future.

Bardock saw it. But he had been unable to stop it. Part of his curse. His punishment for the destruction of Kanassa.

But that was years ago.

Since then, Bardock had come to be master of his visions, not slave to them. Now he could see the tiny threads that connected all things. Follow their paths. See all possible futures. And by seeing, he knew how to guide them.

It was a subtle technique. Delicate. Something he was not used to. Something he had no use for or skill with before his curse of Vision forced him to learn such finer arts.

On the day of Kakarot's execution, the Visions came to him unbidden. Assailing him with two possible futures. Two roads before him. Both of the ending of the world as he had known it in his youth. Both of battle. Of victory and loss -as all battles are. One of the monarchy torn in two. Split down the middle. Brother fighting brother. The Saiyan people killing one another to prevent a hansaiya from ascending to the throne. The other, of one single warrior. Flying into battle with warriors of the dead as his honor guard. A single hansaiya against the Cairngrom Throne. The hansaiya would not become King. The One warrior did not sit upon the Cairngrom Throne. He broke it. Ending the reign of the Vegeta Dynasty. Destroying the world that the late King Vegeta built.

Of the two roads Bardock saw that day. As he watched his son defiantly proclaim himself to be an Earthling, he chose the latter one.

He wanted revenge against not just King Vegeta who's laws condemned his son to public humiliation and death. But also the whole damn House of Vegeta -the Dynasty that safeguarded the laws that made his son's death necessary. But, out of some loyalty to his own race and people, Bardock did not want to see the Saiyans torn in two. Killing each other to place the Bastard of House Vegeta on the throne. So, he chose the second path.

Gohan was the warrior. Gohan was his Weapon against the monarchy. Gohan was the hammer that would break the Cairngrom Throne. A weapon forged the same day Bardock received his visions. Forged in the pain of loss and of fear.

But it was not enough for a Weapon simply to be forged. All weapons must be properly tempered. Carefully honed. Wielded by a skilled and capable hand.

On that day, the visions assailed him without warning or mercy. But that was the last day he was slave to his visions. Since then, Bardock masted his curse, turning it to a gift and an asset. Turning his Eye to See what he needed to See. Bardock watched Gohan grow up on Namek. Training with Piccolo. Using his younger brother and the Bastard of Vegeta as sparring partners. Helping his mother and Vegeta's woman with the domestic chores. Galavanting around the planet with that sorcerer friend of his. Living his life and doing things that Bardock thought to be trivial. Beneath a Saiyan warrior. But, those things were what gave Gohan that indistinct something that Bardock needed him to have. That indistinct something that Kakarot had had. His Weapon was properly tempered. Now the time had come for him to be honed.

The climate on Earth would do, to hone his Weapon. It would do Gohan good. He had not seen suffering since his father's execution. He was a child then. Small and sheltered. Made weak by his human mother's coddling. Now he was grown. A man. Strong and independent. Confident in his own power and able to protect himself. Now being confronted with true battle would force him to sharpen his skills. Being forced to watch the suffering of others -of his mother people- would motivate him. He would hone himself out of necessity and out of drive. The safety of the sparring circle gone. The Weapon unsheathed and ready to be tested.

Things were proceeding as he wished them to. Not exactly as he had foreseen. But close enough to satisfy him for now.

But there did remain the matter of that second path…

Bardock had hoped that his sabotaging the Exiled Prince's ship would have put that second possible future to rest. Ended things before they could begin. The Bastard of Vegeta would have remained hidden forever on Namek. Never to know his true birthright. But Bardock had not foreseen his attempt to prevent Tarble discovering the Bastard being the very thing that ultimately lead him to the hansaiya Prince. If Bardock hadn't cracked that stupid hyperdrive, Tarble would have returned strait to Gyu. Never stopping on Namek. Never meeting Vegeta's woman or learning of the Bastard Prince. Bardock may no longer be slave to his visions, but that did not mean that he was still able to see all ends.

Not even the very wise can see all ends.

As he often lamented in the early days when it was still a curse, 'Useless ass psychic powers!'

A mistake was made.

If his Weapon was to succeed, then the Bastard of Vegeta couldn't be underfoot. Bardock would have to fix that.

He thought about killing the brat. He was a Vegeta. House Vegeta was the enemy. So long as one of them survived, the Saiyan people would never be made to see. But, for some reason, that left a bad taste in his mouth. Perhaps he might have gotten a little attached to the Bastard during the short time he lived with the family on Namek. He certainly had gotten attached to Gohan and Goten whilst living with them. That was something he hadn't meant to do. Or maybe he was just getting old. Since mastering his powers, Bardock had found that he didn't like taking an active role in things anymore. Preferring instead to watch things unfold. Giving them a little nudge here and there to make sure they unfolded properly -as he had foreseen.

Another nudge was needed now.

Placing two fingers to his forehead, using a technique he learned on planet Yardrat, Bardock pictured the river Khanon, cutting through the deserts of Gyu. He pictured the city of the Lower Kingdom hugging the high-bank, its buildings carved from the sandstone of the desert. Brightly colored canopies overhanging doors and windows, shading them from the sun's heat. The buildings tightly packed, the streets narrow. A dark alley off the larger streets. Mostly hidden from view. That would be his landing point.

The technique was instant.

An 'Instant Transmission' so to speak.

All he had to do was imagine a place clearly. Fix the image in his mind. Then focus his ki and take a little sidestep between space and time.

When Bardock opened his eyes again, he was exactly where he imagined himself to be. In a shaded alley, mostly concealed by the buildings around him. Taking a moment to readjust himself to his new surroundings, the Seer stepped out onto the main street and began navigating his way through the city towards the exiled Prince's estate.

The river Khanon was a lone ribbon of blue, flanked in equally thin lines of green upon its banks. It cut through the deserts of Gyu, flowing north into the Verdant Sea. The tribe of Tarble's Gyujin mate had long ago come down south, across the Sea to make their home along a stretch of bank just below the river's delta. A place the twelve tribes now called the Lower Kingdom. A tad counter-intuitive to anyone looking at an actual map of the area, as the maps were all oriented with north being 'up', so that the Lower Kingdom was actually sitting above the Upper Kingdom. But the names were decided by the direction that the river flowed, water always traveling the downward path as it cut it's way through the desert to rejoin the Sea.

They built their cities along the high bank. The buildings hugging the edge of the water. Cut from the solid sandstone of the desert.

Across the water, on the lower bank, fields of green, tilled into neat rows could be seen from the time just after the flood season, up to the final days of autumn. Right now, it was not yet spring. The rains had not yet started and the floods would not come for some months yet.

Bardock did not bother requesting entrance at the main gate. The estate was not actually Prince Tarble's, the house and all its property actually belonging to his Gyujin mate, Gure ben Gad. Saiyans, as a general rule, were not widely trusted through out the galaxy and Bardock wasn't too keen on being turned away by a creature that he could crush with a finger. Instead, he took to the air, hovering around the riverbank to the back of the estate.

A narrow courtyard decended with a gentle slope down into the waters of the Khannon. Enclosing the yard were two sheer walls, finely smoothed, but otherwise unadorned. The only fixtures on them being uniformly placed windows. This side of the house would have the best views after all, looking over the river to the fields on the opposite bank.

He found the Prince easily enough. Being so different from the Gyujin in appearance -even dressed in native clothes- Tarble was easy to spot through an upper window. No scouter or ability to sense ki needed. (Although, the ability to sense ki helped.)

Bardock crossed his arms over his chest, contemplating the best way to deal with the exiled Prince. Killing him outright would be a little to bold. He was brother to the King and a move like that could spark things the Seer did not want to deal with. He was here to clear the path for his Weapon to smash the Caingrom Throne, not muddy the waters with unnecessary irrelevancies. And besides, if he was going to kill anyone to prevent the Second Path he saw from happening, it would be the Bastard of Vegeta. It would be rather hard for Tarble to start a war attempting to put his hansaiya nephew on the throne when there was no more nephew.

But, as previously stated, the idea of killing the boy left a bad taste in his mouth. Perhaps he was becoming sentimental and weak in his old age. Or, perhaps, during that year he lived on Namek with his daughter-in-law and grandsons, he had also come to view the Bastard in a similar way. He might be a decedent of House Vegeta, but he was also one of them. Wronged by the monarchy. A victim of the late King Vegeta's world.

Bardock wasn't sure what made the exiled Prince look up. Tarble wore no scouter over his eye and so could not have been warned of the Seer hovering over the tier just outside of his home. Or, perhaps he just sensed the older man's glare through the window. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. What was important was that Tarble, by pure chance, happened to look up and see Bardock.

For a moment, the exiled Prince was alarmed and ever-so-slightly confused. After all, how often did one find a Saiyan warrior, dressed for a purge mission, hovering outside one's home? Then his expression shifted with recognition, remembering him from their brief meeting by the late King Vegeta's pyre. Bardock gave a slight nod of acknowledgement before motioning with his hand. Silently indicating to the younger man that he wanted to talk alone.

Tarble returned the nod then muttered something to his mate before excusing himself.

They met in the courtyard. Bardock landing in the garden, just before the grass began its slope towards the water.

Tarble appeared from a side door, crossing the lawn to meet him. "I know you…" He began. "You were at my father's funeral. Who are you?"

Bardock couldn't help but smile in amusement at the question. There was once a time when almost every Saiyan in Salaad knew his face and name. He was Bardock the Seer, Bardock of the Crossed Scar, Bardock the Fool. A low-level soldier whom had risen in strength, taken on a difficult purge mission, and come back cursed. As the Kanassans were forced to see the destruction of their world and know that they were powerless to stop it, so to was Bardock cursed. Able to see the future and plagued with visions of the end of the world that he knew, the world that his King had built.

Frightened and confused, Bardock went to King Vegeta. Told him of his mission and of the final survivor and of the curse that was placed on him. Of his new ability to see the future and his visions of the end of the world as they knew it. An end brought about by a hansaiya.

In the early days, when he had no control over it, the visions were all jumbled together. Unconnected and messy. Impossible to interpret. The two paths that he now could recognize as separate and defined, appeared as one. A hansaiya would tear the monarchy in two, vying for power, and the throne would be broken, the Vegeta Dynasty ended.

Upon hearing all that Bardock had to say, the King did two things to try and prevent this future from coming to pass. The first was to decree that mating between Saiyans and non-Saiyans (of any species) was illegal and that any hansaiya offspring that resulted from such forbidden unions were to be killed at birth or aborted before they could even be brought to term. His second action, to prevent the kingdom from being torn in two, the keep brother from fighting brother over the throne, was to send his younger son away. Prince Tarble's temperament was not suited for Vegeta-sei anyway, and so King Vegeta used that as justification to remove his younger son from the political center and -hopefully- prevent any thoughts of usurping his older brother before the young Prince could even dream of the idea.

Oh, what a cruel mistress hindsight is.

To the Prince, he said, "I used to know your father."

Tarble's expression turned sour and resentful. "If you're a friend of my father's then you're not welcome here. Please leave. Peace be with you."

"I have not been your father's 'friend' ever, Your Highness." Bardock couldn't help but laugh at the idea. King Vegeta did not have friends, he had underlings. "I said I used to know him. At one time, I gave him council -until he chose to stop taking it."

"That man never did care much for the thoughts of others." The Prince nodded. "What brings you to Gyu -to my house?"

"I mean you no harm, Your Highness." Bardock assured the younger man.

"I didn't say you did." Tarble countered. "To often people assume the worst of us Saiyans, for no reason other than that we are Saiyan."

"That is very true." The older man agreed. "And very wise of you to recognize. I wonder… how far does that young wisdom of yours stretch?"

If Table was calmer and more temperate than the late King Vegeta, maybe this would be easier than he thought. If he was wise enough to understand what Bardock was trying to tell him, then maybe the Other Path could be avoided with little fuss and only a small nudge from him.

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me," he began, "have you met your nephew?"

"What?" Tarble's eyes went wide, his eyebrows shooting up almost to his hairline before coming back down with suspicion. The trait was subtler on his face, his features softer, but Tarble still carried the tsurime eyes of House Vegeta. "What nephew? Niisan and the Lady Soy have no children."

'Nice recovery.' Bardock thought. "The one I am referring to is not the son of Soy of House Legume, but rather a former slave. A human woman. Your hansaiya nephew. Have you met him?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tarble insisted. "I think I'd like you to leave now!"

"What? No parting curtesy wishing peace to be with me?" The Seer smiled a knowing smile. Even without his Sight, King Vegeta's younger son was as transparent at a window pane. "You know of whom I speak, Tarble son of Vegeta. Whether you choose to admit it or not. You are not as skilled a liar as you need to be to protect him. But don't worry. I don't mean your nephew any harm. I have simply come to tell you that he is not fit to be King."

Tarble blinked. "Of course he's not fit to be King, he's just a child. Everyone knows that with any child-King its not really the King but the adults in his life that run the country. No child can be expected to take responsibility to complicated affairs of state. That's why every child-King has an adult Regent to-"

And Tarble cut himself off right there…

Bardock suddenly got a very bad feeling.

"The Regent…" Tarble continued. "Fulfills the duties of a King until the real King is old enough to take over the responsibility himself… The Regent would have all the power of the King… The regent would have the power to repeal laws and…"

"No." Bardock said flatly. No. Nope. Not gonna happen. He was not gonna cause shit to happen by trying to prevent it in the first place. Not again!

The younger man smiled up at him. "You're brilliant! Thank you, Stranger. You have just given me the answer!"

"No." The Seer repeated.

"Since Niisan won't listen, and Bulma-neesan won't help, I'll just put Trunks-chan on the throne and act as his Regent until he's old enough to take over!"

"No. No. No!" Bardock smacked the younger man across the face. "You little fool! Do you have any idea what that will do to the rest of the monarchy? The Saiyans are the most powerful race in the universe, what do you think would happen if we turned on ourselves? You will destroy your own race if you try and start a war to place a hansaiya on the throne. I thought you were a pacifist!?"

Tarble reeled backwards, thrown by Bardock's blow. When he once again had control over his body, he blinked up at the older man. "War? Who said anything about war? Trunks is the son of the current King. Trunks would be the rightful heir anyway."

"Trunks is a hansaiya!" Bardock reminded him. "Do you honestly think you could replace your brother with him peacefully? If so, than you're a greater fool than your father ever was."

That struck a nerve. "Don't ever compare me to him!" Tarble's ki flared and for a moment Bardock wondered if the pacifistic Prince would actually strike him. But the younger man's hands -balled into fists- remained impotently at his sides. Instead he glared at the Seer and said, voice low and determined. "I am nothing like my father. I refuse to live in his world. I will change things. If Niisan won't help me, if Bulma-oneesan won't help me, then I'll do it myself. I'll put my nephew on the throne and rule as his Regent. I will change my father's world with my own hands. A hansaiya will sit upon the Cairngrom Throne and I will be the one to put him there!"

It was all Bardock could do to just stare at the younger man. He, once again, had to fight the impulse to just kill the man and be done with it. He was a Vegeta and the House Vegeta was the enemy. But, he reminded himself, killing the brother of the King would just create more problems than he wanted to deal with at this moment. Instead, he looked into the exiled Prince's future.

Focusing and unfocusing his eyes, Bardock allowed himself to see with Sight that went beyond sight. To get a glimpse of the future he had just wrought by putting Tarble on the exact Path he had endeavored to keep him away from.

"You're a fool." Said Bardock at last. "But you will understand before the end. You'll come over to my side. Be seeing you, Tarble son of Vegeta."

He turned to leave.

Tarble shouted after him. "I prefer my Gyujin name! Tarble ben Malpe!"

So Bardock paused, turning back to reply, "When you finally act like a Gyujin rather than a Saiyan, I will call you by it! Hail the victorious dead, son of Vegeta."

And he returned to Kanassa to watch things unfold until the time he was needed.


	10. The Earth

Hanging in space in seeming serenity to the naked eyes was the blue and white marbled jewel of planet Earth. A deep blue globe with spots of green and streaks of white giving its surface texture and character. Namek was his ancestral home, the place from which his father had come back when he was still whole, the place that he called home for the past eight years, but Earth was the planet on which he had been born. Earth was Piccolo's true home.

A solitary person by nature, Piccolo hadn't felt all that much different living on the outskirts of Ighai village. Training with Gohan and the boys daily. But now, with his true home right there, shining with the reflected light of the sun, Sol, Piccolo felt homesick.

Some part, deep in the back of his mind stirred. Demanding he look beyond the sight of his naked eyes at the planet below. To see the planet he had abandoned temporarily to the care of weaker warriors and lesser guardians. …Guardians? Ah. So that was some remnant of Kami stirring in his head. The old Guardian of Earth, the light half to his father's dark. The Yang to his Yin. Shortly before leaving Earth on his insane rescue attempt for Gohan, Piccolo had convinced the old man to fuse with him. A permanent fusion. They once again became one being. No longer light and dark, but one complete person in tumbling shades of grey. At the time, the plan was just to sneak in, grab his pupil, and get out again.

Needless to say, that didn't happen.

He hadn't intended on meeting Bardock. He hadn't even known about the man. The warrior-prophet. Soothsayer and soldier. The father of Goku. Grandfather of Gohan. Together, and with the help of Bulma -shockingly eight months pregnant at the time- they managed to pinch not only Gohan, but his mother as well, from the Saiyans' clutches. That was when Bardock convinced them not to return to Earth. Go somewhere else and train. Train Gohan. 'A little less than a decade', he said. It would take a little less than a decade. Gohan would be the instrument of the monarchy's destruction, but like any good tool he must be properly forged, tempered, and honed.

Forged by the fear and pain he suffered while in captivity. Tempered by Piccolo's training on Namek, immersed in an environment that would nurture and encourage his compassion without suppressing his Saiyan need for action and violence. Now the time has come for him to be honed. Honed by the rebellion on Earth, apparently. Honed in battle. Against numbers and impossible odds.

As Bardock had foretold, it was a little less than one decade since they escaped Vegeta-sei, now here they were, returning to Earth. Piccolo wished the Saiyan Seer had shared more of his vision, or his plan -whatever it was- with him. At least that way, he would have a better idea of what was to come, and how best to prepare Gohan, Dende, and himself for it. But Bardock gave away nothing more. Train Gohan for a few years and when the time is right, accompany him back to Earth. Nothing more. The Seer's plan, if in fact he even had one, was all his own. Bardock played his cards close to his chest.

How had things progressed on Earth in these past eight years without them?

Giving into that piece in the back of his mind that still wasn't entirely his own, that small part that was still Kami, Piccolo stretched his awareness beyond the limits of his physical senses and looked down at the world.

Wide tracks of land were stripped bare. The trees cut down. The ground torn up. The animals run off. The ground itself bled dry of its minerals and metals. A deep, wide, bowl now existed where the coast of Chile had been, the region mined and stripped of all its copper resources. It was a similar story in Asia with zinc. South-East Asia and North America with gold. Countless islands and magnesium. South America and lithium… The whole world was being stripped of its resources. Mined for its ores and metals, leaving the ground poisoned and lifeless.

The areas that weren't mined and poisoned were ploughed clear and farmed.

Whole landmasses were moved aside. Woods, hills, mountains… flattened to make space for farms the size of countries. The geography of Earth dramatically altered. Not just land-formations, but settlements too. There were far fewer human cities now than there used to be. The towns and metropolitan centers brushed aside to give Saiyans access to the land to mine, or to till. Whatever purposed served the monarchy best.

Piccolo bared his teeth in anger at the destruction. He and Goku had torn the landscape in their many battles, but never anything like this…

Looking deeper, he tried to find something familiar among all that had changed.

The Look Out was still there. Floating above the Earth, just inside the stratosphere. Held up by magic, or godly power, who knows what. Kami certainly never figured out exactly why or how his Look Out existed. But it did exist. Even with the Saiyan occupation, the Look Out was still there.

It was still there, but it was changed.

No longer a place of peace for the Guardian of the Earth to observe the happenings of the world below. No longer home to a benevolent and silent watcher. Now it housed darkness and evil. Home to those that did not belong. Kami's Look Out had become a Saiyan base. The main base for the Saiyans on Earth, it seemed. They trained in the outer courtyard. Mr. Popo's planter-boxes had been stripped away to give the encroachers more room. Mr. Popo was still there. He served them food in the Look Out's kitchen and dinning rooms, his head bowed low to hide his contempt for the vile aliens.

He must have sensed Piccolo's gaze, because the djin straitened and turned. Round eyes searching for something he couldn't see. "Kami…?"

Piccolo pulled away. He'd seen all he needed to see of the Look Out for now.

Stretching his awareness further, he traveled down the base of the Look Out to Korin's Tower. The Tower was empty but for a small guard contingent that was posted in the old sage's home. Traveling farther, Piccolo got to the Sanctuary. Korin's Sanctuary, a wide and dense forest that surrounded the Tower's foundation and was home to a small tribe of warriors whom had taken it upon themselves to guard the Tower. But the people were gone. The forest burned out and flattened. Wood-chips and scorched Earth. This was Korin's Sanctuary!?

Piccolo was afraid to turn his gaze to other places now. To Mount Paozu, or Kame Island, or even West City. Would they still be there when he looked? Or would they be just as destroyed as Korin's Sanctuary. Dead and gone.

Tentatively, almost hesitantly, Piccolo moved his sight to West City, seat of the old Capsule Corporation -Bulma's city. To his great relief, West City still stood. Much more empty than it had been before and under martial law, but still there. One human settlement, at least, that still stood. The Capsule Corp compound looked to be converted into a Saiyan space-port or something similar, the humans, workers within the port. But they were alive. The city was still there and the people still lived. The knowledge gave Piccolo some small bit of comfort. There was still something left to save.

Kame Island was a different story. The house was vacant. Piccolo didn't know if it was empty because the old man had fled or because he had been killed, but it was clear, even when viewed by his far-sight, that no one had lived in that house for some time. It had a hollowed-out empty feeling. The building still stood strong, but was uncared for and not maintained. Brittle with dry-rot and dust. Mildewy from sea spray.

Passing over Kame House, Piccolo then turned his attention to Mount Paozu-

"We'll be there soon." Kuririn interrupted his concentration. Clapping the Namekian warrior on the back as if they were old friends and not former enemies. Startling Piccolo out of his far-seeing. "Yamcha's bringing us in now."

He looked down at the shorter man. "You didn't tell us how bad it was."

"Yeah… But now that we've got you and Gohan-chan, things will get better." The diminutive former-monk gave a half-hearted hopeful smile.

"Do the Saiyans know how to grow senzu beans?" Piccolo asked, getting right to business. "With Korin's tower under their control, do we even have a chance against them? You know every time a Saiyan recovers from damage they get stronger."

"No. They can't. At least, they couldn't when we left." Kuririn answered. "Only Korin knows how to grow senzu beans and he's with us. Yajirobi got him out before the Saiyans could get to him. We couldn't do the same for Mr. Popo, and… I have no idea what happened to Kami. But, you're alive, so I guess he must be safe somewhere too." He paused. "But… its weird. We all assumed Kami was dead because the Dragon Balls are gone. They reverted back to rock around the same time Gohan and Chichi were taken. Everyone assumed either you or Kami were killed when that happened. I guess Kami deactivated the Dragon Balls himself before he disappeared. So that the Saiyans couldn't use them… I wish he hadn't."

That piece in the back of his mind that refused to be assimilated stirred with sympathy. The last remnant of the old man prompting Piccolo to say, "That's not why the Dragon Balls are gone. Kami didn't abandon you. I took him." Tapping his chest, then his head. "He's in here. We're one again. When that happened, the Dragon Balls disappeared."

Kuririn instantly brightened with true optimism and hope. "So, you can restore the Dragon Balls!"

Piccolo shook his head. "No. You would need a sorcerer for that. I am a warrior and have no skill for the magic trade."

"Oh."

"But there is someone who can restore the Dragon Balls -if he feels up to it."

"Who?" Kuririn asked in ernest.

The shuttle gave a slight lurch as they began their final decent and the ship's internal gravity warred with the external gravity of the Earth for control of the shuttle and its passengers. Yamcha's voice sounded over the ship's intercom. "We are beginning our final approach. Please return all seat-backs and trey-tables to their upright and locked positions and fasten your seat belts, please. We are also experiencing some slight turbulence. If the ship should explode, put your head between your knees and kiss your ass 'good-bye'."

Piccolo turned from the shuttle window and picked his way through the cabin's turbulence. "I'm going to check on Dende. He's never traveled through space before."

It had been a very long time since Piccolo had been in a spaceship. Not since he arrived on Namek with Gohan and Chichi almost a decade ago. He almost forgot how the roar of reentry hurt his sensitive ears and gave him a splitting headache. Though his ancestors were originally from another planet, the former Demon King was very confident in the belief that he did not belong in space. Solid ground beneath his feet and light breathable air in his lungs. That's all Piccolo needed. Let the humans and the Saiyans have their space-travel. He would stay grounded.

Dende seemed to be suffering similar discomfort from the roar and turbulence of their entry. His hands plastered over his pointed ears, attempting to block out the sound. His knees drawn up to his chest, as if doing so could protect him from the shuttle's shaking. Piccolo placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder.

It was then that Piccolo sensed them. Three large kis. All three coming towards the ship as it dropped from the outer atmosphere into the clear blue sky of the breathable atmosphere. To strong to be normal human ki, but to malicious to be one of the strong fighters from Kuririn and Yamcha's rebel group. Saiyans. They must be Saiyans.

Leaving Dende's side, Piccolo entered the cockpit to find Yamcha holding a conversation over the ship's com. The large video screen in front of him displaying a mostly blank image with just the words 'Audio Only…' flashing every second and a half across the screen."

"What'd'ya mean 'transmit identification code'?" He was growling into the com, looking tense and nervous.

"Repeat:" Came the response over the ship's communicator. "Unidentified ship, you are entering Earth's atmosphere without clearance. Transmit identification code and landing permit now. Warriors have already been dispatched to your location. Failure to comply will result in immediate termination of yourself and your vessel."

"Welcoming party?" Piccolo commented.

"Yeah." Yamcha nodded. "I didn't want to bring us in to close to our base 'cause I didn't want them to be able to figure out where we are. But the problem with that is that we're a bit far off for back-up to get to us in time. We're kinda on our own."

"Isn't this what you brought Gohan and I here for?" He asked. "To fight the Saiyans."

"Well, yeah… but-"

Piccolo turned and walked right back out of the cockpit before the former bandit could finish whatever it was he was going to say. He found Gohan easily enough. The younger man had replaced him at Dende's side, offering comfort and sympathy to the disoriented and nervous sorcerer. Reminding him that this was all normal for space travel and that the ship was designed to withstand the pressures and opposing gravities of planetfall. Not to mention that they were at Earth now and it would all be over soon. Touch down, and then they could walk on solid ground again and drink fresh water from mountain springs instead of the filtered and recycled water of the ship.

This seemed to comfort Dende a little and Piccolo made a mental note to share water with both of them after they were once safe.

"Gohan, feel ready to stretch your legs?" He asked.

The younger man looked up and met his eyes. He also sensed them coming but hadn't said anything. Of course he sensed them, Piccolo made it a special point to make sure Gohan's senses were keen. Since Saiyans seemed to cling to their scouters for almost everything and were practically helpless without them, the ability to sense ki would give the hansaiya a large advantage over pure-Saiyan warriors. Piccolo made sure that Gohan mastered that ability to its fullest.

"What?" Dende looked between them, from Piccolo to Gohan and back again. "But we haven't even landed yet."

"Don't worry about it." Gohan patted his water-brother on the shoulder. "This is what I came here for."

To protect Dende from his own foolish decision to help the rebels. In this instance, that help came in the form of having to fight off a trio of Saiyan warriors. It was subtle, but Piccolo knew Gohan well and could just make out the slightest of smiles on his face. An eager smile. He hid it well, but Gohan was excited by the prospect of a real fight against an enemy rather than just an opponent. His Saiyan side showing through.

Dende looked back to Piccolo for some form of guidance or a cue. He too, noticed that Gohan was itching for a fight. Then, the young sorcerer nodded. "I'll have a full cup read for when you get back."

Kuririn was at the airlock when the other two left Dende's side. Already suited up in his orange dogi and trousers with the kame symbol on his back. He looked odd, wearing the iconic uniform with that thick head of dark hair. Piccolo had gotten so used to seeing the diminutive monk with a balled shiny head. But now was not the time to comment. From the quick look he took during their decent, a lot had changed in these past eight years. It was foolish to think that anything would be the same as he had know it back when he lived on Earth.

The cabin filled with rushing air the moment the hatch was popped open. It ruffled Gohan and Kuririn's hair and sent Piccolo's cape whipping around his body. He shrugged the heavy cloak off his shoulders. It had been a long time since he fought a Saiyan -training with Gohan did not count- but from what he remembered of them, the heavy garment would only weigh him down, make him slow. The turban went too. Dressed in only an indigo dogi -similar to the one Gohan wore- with belt and Namekian style pointed shoes, Piccolo leapt from the hatch to engage their enemy.

Behind him, he sensed Gohan's ki flair momentarily as he too leapt from the ship. Then Kuririn. Yamcha and Dende stayed behind. Of course, Dende was no fighter and was wise to stay out of the fight lest he get in their way, and someone had to fly the ship. From what Piccolo remembered of the former bandit, he was better suited to driving than he was to fighting, anyway.

Ahead of them the Saiyans did not appear the least bit surprised to see non-Saiyans emerge from the shuttle.

Piccolo put on a burst of speed and rushed the one closest to them, barreling into the alien warrior and forcing him backwards away from the ship. The other two paused only a moment to make sure their comrade could handle his opponent on his own, before turning their attention back to the shuttle and the other two warriors coming at them.

Gohan paused several feet from connecting with either of the Saiyans and brought the palms of his hands together before offering a respectful bow. His own Saiyan blood might be boiling for a fight, but Son Gohan still respected the traditions and ceremonies of an honorable combat.

Elbowing his own adversary in the stomach, Piccolo turned his attention to his protege momentarily. Just long enough to snap, "This isn't a spar!"

"Right." And Gohan's eyebrows came down at a sharp angle in an expression Piccolo remembered seeming on Son Goku's face during their own battles. Gohan knew this wasn't a game. Piccolo didn't have to worry about him. His Saiyan half was probably burning at the prospect of getting to fight warriors of his own race -one of his own races- with no holds barred, not having to hold back anything for fear of hurting one of them or getting in trouble with his mother or Bulma.

Gohan let his opponent get in the first hit. Piccolo noticed long ago that, when ever his pupil was fighting a new opponent, he liked to let them get in the first punch. It was Gohan's way of gauging their strength so that he had a better idea of what he was dealing with. The hansaiya's senses were keen, but a fighter's ki and aura only told you so much. But strength did not also denote skill. And so to measure a fighter's skill, they were given a free hit.

Piccolo's attention was drawn back to his own opponent abruptly and rather painfully when the Saiyan got in one solid kick to his side. Right where his kidney might have been had the Namekian warrior been human. It might not have been as vital an organ that the alien monkey hit, but it still hurt enough to cause the former Demon King to snarl in pain. Saliva spurting from his lips as he cursed some rather colorful Earthling curses.

He grabbed the Saiyan's ankle before he could withdraw the limb. Digging his claws into the man's flesh to get a better grip, causing the Saiyan to let out his own snarl of pain. Piccolo spun the man around, and around, and round, and round. Working up the inertia to throw the bulky warrior. When Piccolo was satisfied withe the speed and force they'd worked up, he let go. Sending the Saiyan flying right smack into the third warrior whom was headed strait towards Kuririn.

The diminutive former monk breathed a sigh and offered a salute of 'thank you' to the former Demon King. He was a capable fighter, probably one of the strongest normal humans on the planet, but Piccolo knew that he had a bit of a cowardly streak to him. Not so cowardly that he would turn tail and run, abandoning his allies. But just cowardly enough to make him hesitate and hamper his reactions. Or else, cause him to give into panic and fight sporadically. Kuririn would not run, but he may not keep a cool head in a fight either. Bodily harm and death were things that worried him and, unfortunately, bodily harm and death were real possibilities in any fist fight, not just death-battles against planet-conquering doctoral soldiers.

"They're coming back!" Piccolo shouted.

And sure enough. Both the one he threw and the one he collided with had stopped their tumbling through the air, righted themselves and were zooming back towards Piccolo and Kuririn.

On his other side, Gohan had gained the upper hand in grappling with his own Saiyan opponent and slammed the man downward. Sending him earthward to smack into the ground with an earth shaking crash that kicked up a cloud of dust and formed a large crater.

"They're not all that bad." Gohan commented.

"These are Third Class Saiyans." Kuririn explained. He quickly dodged one of the other Saiyan's energy waves before launching a kienzan. The energy disk grazed the alien's side, opening a gash in the plating of his armor, but doing little more than a superficial scratch to the flesh underneath. Kuririn ducked out of the way of the retaliating blast before continuing. "They're about as strong as your uncle was when he first came to collect your father."

"Oh." Gohan looked away. Focussing instead on the other airborne enemy. The mention of his uncle's arrival on Earth probably stirred up unpleasant memories for the young warrior. It was, after all, the event that marked the beginning of this whole mess. If Raditz had never come to Earth looking for Goku, then none of this would have ever happened.

"Stay focused!" Piccolo barked. "There will be time to dwell on the past later. You're much stronger than they are. Heh. I'm much stronger than I was back then, too…"

So, these were Third Class Saiyans, what were also called 'Low Level Warriors'. These guys were small-fry. Piccolo assessed the situation, examining the battle dynamic. Gohan busy with one, another focused mostly on Kuririn, the third only just shaking off being throne into the planet by Gohan. All three were busy at the moment, giving him enough time to charge up his Makankōsappō. Excellent.

"Right." Gohan nodded. He refocussed his attention on the two airborne enemies, momentarily leaving the one on the ground unbothered. "Ka… me… ha… me… ha!"

He launched a Kamehameha wave almost point blank in the face of the one he was grappling with. Forcing the Saiyan back, his hands covering his now burned and blackened face. If he healed it would leave a gnarly scar.

Keeping the main part of his attention focused on his ki and charging his attack, Piccolo frowned. Gohan was squeamish about killing. He had always known that about his pupil. But this was not the time or the place to be holding back. This was not the training circle. These Saiyans were not sparring partners that would stop when someone said 'Yeld!' They would keep coming until they either killed them or were killed themselves. That was the way Saiyans were. If you defeated them but left them alive, they would not let it go and move on, learn from the experience and improve. No. They would dwell on it. Burning the face of the one who had humiliated them into their mind. Memorizing their name. Hunting them down to the ends of the universe for a rematch and the kill. Piccolo did not want to see every Saiyan on Earth carrying a personal vendetta against Gohan because he showed mercy rather than killing them outright.

As it was, at this exact moment, Gohan probably had enough power to kill all three of the Third Class Saiyans by himself.

But he wouldn't.

He wouldn't because he was Son Goku's son. Son Goku whom valued all living things and always gave those with a seemingly 'evil' heart a second chance. And he was raised on Namek, where Peace, Purity, and Family are valued above Power and Influence. Killing was not something Gohan would easily do. Fight them yes. He loved to fight as much as any pure-bred Saiyan, it was woven into his DNA. But killing was something that humans must learn to become comfortable with. Gohan was uncomfortable killing. That, too, was woven into his DNA.

"Don't go easy on them!" Piccolo shouted. "They will not hesitate to kill you if they could!"

"But, Piccolo-san!" Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by the second Saiyan, having decided that Kuririn was beneath his notice, collided with Gohan. One sharp elbow to the spine. "Ahrrg!"

The hansaiya flared his ki to force the Saiyan off himself. Then turned to face his new attacker.

The one he shot in the face retuned and the two flanked Gohan. Then the one from the ground finally rejoined the party and all three surrounded Gohan.

"You're different from other humans." Said the one he shot in the face.

"That move would have broken a normal human in half." Said the one that elbowed his spine.

The one he'd throne to the ground tapped his scouter. "You're a- !"

"Makankōsappō!" Piccolo's attack went right through him before that statement could be finished. Whatever he decided Gohan was, the others didn't get to hear it. One down. Two to go. "Stop hesitating, Gohan!"

Kuririn rejoined the fray with a Kamehameha of his own, aimed at the Elbow guy. It caught him in the side, right where the open cut in his armor was and he howled in pain, turning around to glad daggers at the diminutive warrior.

"He's right, ya know!" Kuririn agreed with Piccolo, dodging the Saiyan's retaliation and darting to hide behind Gohan. "These guys aren't like Piccolo. They won't turn good and be rehabilitated like he was. They'll take your mercy and stab you in the back. Don't be nice to them, Gohan. Sometimes, you have to kill to protect yourself and the ones you love."

"Talk later!" Piccolo snapped. He launched a beam of energy from his mouth that caught the Saiyan Kuririn had already injured in the chest. Penetrating the armor, going through his chest and coming back out the other side. The warrior began to fall slowly, but he was still alive. "Now, finish him off!"

"But-" Gohan hesitated.

"Kienzan!" Kuririn shouted and the flat disk of energy split the Saiyans head in two.

All three of them turned to glare at the last one. Now hovering in a defensive stance. He glanced from one of his called comrades to the other. Then turned and ran. Flying as fast as he could back to his base.

"Kienzan!"

"Masenko-ha!"

Both Kuririn and Piccolo shouted at the exact same time. Launching their attacks at the fleeing Saiyan. Then, after a prolonged pause, Gohan also pitched in an attack of his own.

"Masenko-ha." Though with less enthusiasm.

And all three of the Saiyans were obliterated.

The shuttle landed safely. Some place out of the way, by the sea. Concealed by an overhanging sea cliff. Yamcha brought it down for a water landing then sailed the thing into a small cove, parking it just beneath the cliff's overhang. Piccolo, Kuririn and Gohan landed on the narrow bank just as Yamcha and Dende were climbing out of the hatch.

"Shame we didn't think to grab any empty capsules from Bulma before we left." He said. "This thing might have come in handy later."

"It's served its purpose." Piccolo stated. He did not enjoy space travel.

"We should get back to base." Kuririn commented.

"Yeah." Yamcha agreed before casting one final longing look at the ship. Perhaps he was thinking of using it to return to Namek and retrieve Bulma after all the fighting was done. Or maybe a more practical purpose of retrofitting it with exterior weapons and using it in battle against the Saiyans. Whatever his plans were, they didn't have a capsule for it, so he turned away. Slapping Gohan on the shoulder, he said, "Its this way. C'mon, kiddo, you might just recognize the place!"

…

Indeed, he did recognize Dragon Rock. As an area not far from Mount Paozu, where he was born and lived the first eleven years of his life, Gohan recognized the labyrinthine rock corridors instantly. He used to play in this area with Higher Dragon whenever his mother wasn't making him study.

Yamcha took point through the narrow rock corridors, leading the party to the main entrance of their base while Kuririn took up the position of rear guard. Walking single file, Piccolo kept his ears piqued, his senses alert, and his eyes open. Dragon Rock was the perfect place to hide a rebel base, but it was also the perfect place to stage an ambush. Narrow paths. Few places to run. Single file lines. They would be easy pickings. His eyes darted from side to side with every third step, examining the cliffs critically.

Dende's eyes were also darting around wildly. But his was a look of fascination and wonder. It was his first time on another planet. The Earth grass was green. Their sky was blue. It was so different from Namek! To spite himself, Piccolo couldn't help but smile at the younger man's innocents and enthusiasm.

Then they passed an almost smooth wall with what looked like a list of some sort carved into it.

"What's this?" Dende paused the whole party to look.

Piccolo scanned the list and quickly realized that it was a memorial of some kind. He placed a pacifying and on the young sorcerer's shoulder, a silent command for him to curb his enthusiasm.

Gohan ran a hand over his own name listed on the wall and the words 'He was eleven years old'. He skimmed the other names, his eyes flashing with recognition of some and glazing with unfamiliarity with others. "This is… these are all the people you've lost?"

"The ones who's names we knew. Yeah." Kuririn nodded soberly.

"But you're back now!" Yamcha pipped up, acting at the voice of optimism. "That's one less name on the wall!"

With a smile, he reached up to erase the line that read, 'Son Gohan, The First hansaiya, taken from Earth -presumed dead. He was eleven years old.' But Gohan stopped him.

"I'm not really back." He said. "I'm just here to protect my brother."

He cast a sideways glance at Dende whom avoided his eyes.

Not knowing what else to say, the humans remained quiet for one… two… three beats. No one said it at all during their trip back to Earth, but they didn't really want Dende. It was Gohan that they crossed the blackness of space to find. Gohan they begged to return with them and fight the good fight. Gohan whom was supposed to be their savior. If they thought he would agree, they would have offered -ney, begged- him to stay. But Gohan made it quite clear that he was only along to protect the Namekian sorcerer, his water-brother, and that he intended to return to his peaceful life on Namek after this was over.

Finally, Piccolo pointed a finger at his own name on the wall and let loose a small low-energy wave that sanded the rock clean. When he once again lowered his hand, the words, 'Demon King Piccolo, vanished -presumed dead.' were gone, leaving behind only smooth stone. "I am back." He explained. "This is my world and I don't intend to leave again until the day I got to meet Enma-sama."

Gohan and Dende both gave him identical shocked glances, but the former Demon King offered no explanations.

Kuririn cleared his throat. "Lets keep moving. The entrance isn't all that far."

And it wasn't that far. They walked perhaps another fifteen feet and then were frozen in their tracks by a low but commanding female voice. "Don't move!"

All five men looked up to see a blond perched atop the cliff. A double barrel shotgun trained on them.

Kuririn smiled up at her. "Hey Launch. Its us."

"Hi, Kuririn, Yamcha." She half-smiled.

A second woman appeared on the opposite cliff. She carried no weapon but held herself like a fighter. She was younger than Launch. With long dark hair pulled to the sides in two low pigtails. "We don't know the others. What's with the green men? More aliens?"

"Yup." Kuririn nodded. "This is Piccolo and Dende. They're from Namek. Well, Piccolo's from here on Earth, but his ancestor was from Namek."

"And this…" Yamcha placed both hands on Gohan's shoulders, beaming with something that might have been pride, "…is Son Gohan. Gohan, the blond up there is Launch. Its okay if you don't remember her, she sort of fell out of touch after you were born. We didn't rediscover each other until the Saiyans were already here. And that little brunette with the intense glare is Videl Satan. She's about your age, training to learn ki-techniques. Now, you kids play nice."

"Uh, h-hi…" Gohan blushed, looking away, not meeting the girl's eyes.

"Wait, this is Son Gohan!?" Videl blinked down at them. "He looks so… normal!"


	11. The Call

Bulma told Chichi not to worry. That Gohan was strong, and well trained, and could take care of himself. That Piccolo and Dende went with him and would help keep him out of trouble. He would not come to the same fate as his father. While all that might be true, it still did not stop her from worrying. Because, if Chichi wanted to worry, if Chichi felt there was something worth worrying about, then she would worry. She would dwell. She would fixate. And she would make herself half-crazy in the process.

Doing chores work helped her cope with this anxiety.

And Trunks and Goten did create plenty for her to do. Especially now that both Gohan and Piccolo were no longer around to help manage the overly energetic boys. In addition to the normal washing, and mending, and tending to boo-boos, there was also the plain and simple yet immensely difficult task of getting them to sit still long enough for a bath, or a lesson, or just so that the women could have a moment of peace and quiet.

This wasn't such a problem when Gohan was still around. He took the boys out almost every day for training, sparring, and hunting. Activities that, while also catering to their Saiyan drive for violence, also managed to burn off enough of their energy for the boys to sit still without fuss. Long enough for a bath. Or a lesson Bulma. Or so Chichi could get new measurements to alter their clothing -children grow up so fast. But Both Gohan and Piccolo had left. Gone off on a damn fool adventure to save the world.

Just like her Goku would have done… Just like he used to do… She missed him.

But he was gone too. Killed years ago by his very own people. The same people Gohan went off to fight. Chichi knew that her son was stronger than his father was then. That there was no reason to believe he would be doomed to the same fate. But at the same time… he was her little boy. He might be all grown now. A man. He might have surpassed his father, his mentor, maybe everyone -she didn't know. But he would always be her first child. Her special little boy. Because of that, she would worry and there wasn't a force in the 'verse that would change that.

The plate she was attempting to wash cracked in her hands when she thought about the danger he might be in at that very moment and she was powerless to do anything about it. This was the hardest part about being left behind. The not knowing. The feeling powerless.

Chichi chucked the broken plate in a rubbish bin and continued with the dishes. There were slightly fewer of them now. Not just because she broke a third of them with her worry, but also because there was one less mouth to feed at the table.

Outside, she could hear Bulma shouting at the boys. But she couldn't tell if the woman was angry with the overly-energetic youngsters or if they were so far away that she needed to scratch to be heard. Either way, it would be a momentary distraction from her own pessimistic thoughts. Housework and chores only helped so much. Sometimes you needed a human distraction. Chichi shut off the water, put the dishes down and, drying her hands on her apron, walked outside to join Bulma with wrangling the boys.

It looked like the older woman was shouting up into thin air, at nothing. Trunks and Goten having apparently flown so high that the suns hid them from view. It was all Bulma could do to shout at them to get down, come back here, if I have to tell you one more time…

With a huff, Chichi poached both hands on her hips and called sternly, "If you don't listen to Bulma, then there will be no dinner later!"

It was like magic.

Both boys defended from the air, looking fearful and defeated. The easiest way to control a Saiyan was through his stomach, Chichi had learned that lesson with Goku. Hansaiya were no different. Threaten to take away their food and they would give in.

"But Bulma-san is torturing us!" Goten wined at his mother. "She's making us do math! I don't like numbers. They make my head hurt."

Chichi couldn't help but smile at that. Out of her two sons, Goten was the one that was most like his father. In both appearance and personality.

Bulma looked like she was about to make a comment. Perhaps something about how important number really were or how much he would appreciate these lessons when he was grown, but she didn't get the chance. Trunks suddenly pointed at something up in the sky and exclaimed, "What's that!?"

They all squinted up at the thing Trunks was pointing at, trying to make out its shape more clearly. It was a space ship. Not a one-man drop pod. It was a shuttle.

"Its Oniichan!" Goten exclaimed upon recognizing the shape as a Saiyan shuttle.

"Gohan-oniisan!" Trunks echoed.

Chichi felt a bit of a thrill go through her, followed immediately by a rush of relief. Gohan was home. Her special little boy was home and she would be damned if she let him leave again!

But then, Bulma had to go and mutter, "It hasn't been enough time for a round trip between Namek and Earth…"

Glancing at the woman, Chichi saw that Bulma's chin was in her hand, her eyes slightly unfocused as she did some mental calculations. Now enough time for a round trip, she thought. Not enough time to travel to Earth, then turn around and travel back. Never mind actually fighting the Saiyans that were supposed to be on Earth. When Chichi thought about that, she realized how silly it was to assume the shuttle they saw really was Gohan returning home. But if it wasn't Gohan, then who…? And more importantly, why!?

Chichi grabbed both boy's before they could fly off again. Go and meet up with who they thought was Gohan as the shuttle landed. "Don't even think about it. You've still got lessons. Think how disappointed Gohan would be in both of you when he leads that you've been neglecting your studies while he was gone."

"I don't wanna disappoint Oniichan!" Goten assured his mother.

"T'ch. Gohan-oniisan probably won't care all that much." Trunks scoffed.

"Inside. Now!" Chichi snapped, not willing to put up with any of Trunks' back-talk at the moment.

As the boys shuffled their feet inside, Chichi met Bulma's eyes. The older woman gave her an almost microscopic nod. She would stay at the house and keep the boys occupied if Chichi wanted to go down to the village and see what was really going on. It was far to soon for the shuttle to be Gohan returning from Earth. But that didn't automatically mean the shuttle meant danger or an enemy. They had jumped to that conclusion once already and were pleasantly surprised to find that it was old friends instead.

Maybe this shuttle was more friends from Earth. Maybe they had sent some of their families to Namek to ride out the battle where it was safe. On another planet far from the fighting. It was a bit of a stretch, but it wasn't impossible. Or maybe it was another escaped slave with another hansaiya child. Coming to a planet that was mostly out of the way of the monarchy to hideout and raise her cursed offspring as Bulma and Chichi had done. There was no need to automatically assume the ship meant trouble. Chichi tried to place her natural lean towards pessimism aside and think on the less harmful possibilities. She didn't know the actual math for it. If she asked, Bulma could no doubt spit out the actual probabilities without a moment's pause, but Chichi decided that there was only a one in three chance that the shuttle was an actual Saiyan coming for her family.

"I'm going down to the village." Chichi informed Bulma.

"I'll make sure the little terrors keep busy." And out of trouble.

Chichi took her shopping bag. More for the boy's benefit than because she planned to do any real shopping. There was no reason to worry then when she still wasn't sure if there was anything to worry about. If she carried on like everything was normal, then they would think nothing was wrong. And if they happened to smell nerves or anxiety rolling off either her or Bulma, they might just write it off as excitement at new people arriving.

As with before, a crowd formed in the village to watch the new ship land.

It was still high up in the sky, not anywhere close enough to see any real detail. But Chichi already knew it wasn't the same shuttle that Gohan had left in. Not just because there hadn't been enough time for him to go and come back, but because she was his mother and she knew it in her heart that her little boy wasn't anywhere near. Nowhere close to home. Maybe that was her 'ki-sense'. Limited to her children only, but able to span the cosmos.

She stood with the crowd, waiting for the shuttle to land on the outskirts, just as the previous one had.

As it defended lower, Chichi could make out more detail. Markings along the side in a flowing-swooping script that might have been writing. The ships name, perhaps? And a symbol. A five fingered hand with the outer most two digits bent and an eye in the center. Not a Saiyan symbol. She ship did not belong to the monarchy. Chichi breathed a sigh of relief. If the ship wasn't sporting any Saiyan or monarchal symbols, then it probably wasn't an enemy ship. She didn't recognize the odd hand-symbol, but she had no reason to fear it yet.

When the shuttle finally did land Chichi made sure she was in the group that came out to meet it. Not right up front, mind you. She wasn't yet sure if she wanted to announce to strange visitors from another world that there were non-Namekians living on Namek. Good thing she held back, too. Because when the hatch opened and the ramp was lowered, it wasn't a new and unfamiliar alien that walked out, or another human friend from Earth, or even Gohan miraculously back even though there hadn't been time. No. What walked out of the shuttle was a Saiyan.

He was shorter than other Saiyans Chichi had seen. Almost as short as Goten and Trunks were. But while they were just children, this Saiyan was a fully grown adult. With his hair all spiked up as was the common style for Saiyans. One strand of hair falling over his forehead, hiding a subtle widow's peak. Slightly slanted tsurime eyes. Tail wrapped around his waist. But, unlike other Saiyans, he did not wear armor. This Saiyan was dressed in a white gauzy shirt and linen trousers, a sash around his waist just under the tail, and cloth boots with curved toes.

Chichi's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp and she moved a step or two backwards, deeper into the crowd to hide behind her water-brothers. The two villagers closest to her, moves slightly to place her behind them, hiding the petite woman behind their greater hight.

Unable to see him now. A wall of shifting green skin and homespun fabric blocking her way. Chichi heard the Saiyan say, "I've come looking for your Technician again. Can someone please direct me to her house?"

Chichi froze at his words. He was here looking for Bulma. This must be the Saiyan she helped and then let go. He was back for her. Did he know that Trunks was their King's son? Was he here to purify the line of the King? But if he was on a purge mission, why wasn't he wearing armor? And why come in a shuttle instead of the one-man pods they usually used?

Those were details that could be pondered by others. All Chichi knew for sure at that moment was that this Saiyan was looking for her home, and if he found it, he would find not only Trunks-chan but also her little Goten as well. She already lost her husband to these monsters and had to watch her elder son leave home to fight a war against them. She didn't know if Gohan would ever come back. Like hell was she going to allow another monster to take her Goten away from her too! Even of this Saiyan was here for Trunks, Goten was also a hansaiya and the law clearly stated that all hansaiya must be killed.

She was not going to let that happen! The Saiyan would have to kill her first!

"No!" Chichi still kept up with her basic forms, but she hadn't done any serious training in years. But that didn't stop her from elbowing her way to the front of the crowd. Planting her feet, she assumed a defensive stance and glared down at the short Saiyan visitor in his strange alien clothes. "You will not touch them, Saiyan!"

All around them, the water-brothers of Ighai village stepped back, forming a wide circle around to soon-to-be combatants.

Chichi felt a tremor of nerves run through her. She hadn't fought in years and even a low-level Saiyan could kill her with their pinky finger. But she was protecting her baby. Her precious baby boy and his friend whom was like a third son to her as well. And Bulma too. Chichi didn't know what she would do if she lost Bulma too. Bulma's arrival on Namek was some time after Goku's execution, but it could not have been longer than a month. The pain was still fresh and raw. But when Bulma landed on Namek, no longer pregnant, with baby Trunks in arm, she became a pillar of strength that Chichi could draw from and carry on. In some ways, for certain aspects, Bulma had filled some of the empty places in Chichi's heart that Goku's death left. Bardock called it 'transference'. Chichi didn't care what it was called. She already lost her Goku and said goodbye to her Gohan. She was not going to lose her Goten, her Bulma, or their Trunks.

"Another human female?" It was phrased like a statement, but there was a question in the words. "How many of you are there here?"

Chichi bit the inside of her cheek. Damn. She just exposed herself and by extension Goten. This Saiyan already knew about Trunks and Bulma, but her baby boy was still unknown to the monarchy. If she hadn't stepped up to protect Bulma and Trunks then Goten might have remained safely hidden. Well, hiding was no longer an option. Damn.

"I promise I mean neither the Technician or her son any harm." Continued the Saiyan. "I am Tarble ben Malpe, she knows me. Will you show me to her house?"

"I'll do no such thing!" Chichi snarled. "If you go near them, I'll kill you!"

He paused. Raising one eyebrow. Probably amused by such a bold challenged supported by such weak ki and rusty fighting skills. Damn Saiyans and their damn pride. "I will not fight you, ma'am. In fact, I prefer not to fight, if it can be avoided."

Bullshit. There wasn't a Saiyan alive that preferred peaceful solutions over fighting. Lies! It was bad enough he was here to take away her family, but to lie about it so boldly!

Off to the side, the circle of villagers parted. Her water-brothers making way to allow the elder through. He took one look at the two of them before placing a calming green hand on Chichi's shoulder.

"Brother-Chichi," he said, "this Saiyan has been here before and true to his words then, he did not harm anyone. I am willing to trust him enough to at least show him basic hospitality and not threaten him only moments after stepping off his ship. Could you do the same?"

Her immediate gut reaction was to bite out a "No!" as quick and ruthless as a snake's fang. But one look at the Elder's face, his old eyes deep set in a wrinkled face, reflecting age and wisdom that she did not poses, gave her pause. Chich's shoulder's sagged and she sighed, "For now…"

The elder nodded before turning his attention back to Tarble ben Malpe. "I am willing to welcome you back to our village, Tarble of the Monkeys. But caution compels me to ask why you have returned. You ship was fixed. You have no other business here." Then, after a pause, only because all village elders were required to ask this question of strangers and visitors, "Have you come for our Dragon Balls?"

"I have not." Tarble replied. "I've come to speak with Bulma the Technician. You see… she is my sister."

There was a pause, filled only by the sound of Chchi's scornful scoff. The Elder was quiet one… two… three beats. Then he turned his head back to the circle of villagers.

"Send a runner to ask Brother-Bulma if she will once again meet with this Saiyan." Then, to Tarble, "As you did before, you will wait in my house." Then to Chichi, "You will wait there too."

It didn't take Bulma long to appear. Looking slightly worried, but mostly confused. She glanced from Tarble, to Chichi, to the Elder, then back to Tarble again. Finally, after a prolonged pause, she said, "I fixed your ship already, Tarble. Our business is concluded. Why are you back here? I already told you, I will not return to Vegeta-sei and there is nothing you can do to change my mind."

Tarble paused and it seemed to Chichi that he was choosing his words carefully before he replied, "I have not come here to force you to do something you resolve not to do, Neesan. But, your son -my nephew- is the rightful heir to the throne and deserves the chance to claim his birthright. With a hansaiya on the throne you would have no further reason to fear. My father's world will be truly ended. Trunks should be King."

Bulma's face reflected the horror that Chichi felt at that declaration.

"Trunks is a child!" Both women exclaimed in unison.

"Of course, he would need an adult Regent to help him rul until he comes of age and takes full control of the monarchy himself." Tarble nodded.

Bulma's keen eyes narrowed. "So, that's what this is. You couldn't talk Vegeta into changing things for you. You couldn't drag me from the safety of my home. So, you now plan to use my son as your puppet while you rule through him."

"Its not like that!" The Saiyan insisted.

Chichi clenched her fists at her sides. The Saiyans had already taken away her Goku, and pulled her Gohan away from home in order to fight them. Now they were trying to take Bulma's son from her as well. She was not gonna let that happen! They already lost to many loved ones to these monsters.

"But that's exactly what its like!" She said, standing and moving to take Bulma's hand.

The two women stood side-by-side, fingers intwined, taking strength from one another. Bulma couldn't fight, but if it come to that Chichi knew that she still had her means of defense. Pressed against her side, Chichi could feel a small capsule case attached to her hip. She had her weapons. The weapons she made specifically to combat the Saiyans. Chichi was not so clever. She couldn't devise her own weapons. But she could fight. If it came to it, she would distract the Saiyan while Bulma finished him off.

"I won't let you have my son!" Bulma growled, one hand drifting to the capsule case at her side. Chichi shifted her weight ever-so-slightly to give the older woman easier access.

"But, Bulma-neesan, think of all the good he could do! If Trunks became King-"

"And how do you plan on making him King? Hm?" Bulma cut him off. "Vegeta won't step down willingly. Not even for his own son. I haven't seen him in years, but I at least know that much about him still. His pride would never allow it. You'd have to kill him Tarble. Can you do that? Kill your own brother to put your nephew on the throne. And do you think the rest of the monarchy would let you get away with it without putting up a fight? You're starting a war. You, the 'pacifist', are fixing to get half the monarchy and probably all of the peoples under their rule killed. Not to mention Trunks as well. How long do you think he would survive if this plan of yours went south? Piccolo and Gohan trained him well, but he's still only eight-years-old. He's just a baby. And you wanna put him in the middle of all that."

"Neesan, I don't-"

"We've heard enough." Now it was CHichi's turn to cut him off. "Go home, Saiyan. You cannot have her child. You'll have to kill us first, but if you did, Trunks would never cooperate."

"I'm not leaving here without my nephew!" He shouted.

"Then I suggest you get comfortable and learn to share water." Chichi snapped back.


	12. The Champion

The waters around Mount Paozu still ran clear and deep. Teaming with life. Reeds and water-dwelling insects, the fish that ate the insects, the birds that ate the fish. Gohan dipped his drinking vase in the water, submerging it completely and waiting for it to fill.

He thought about offering to share water with Dende. But the sorcerer always seemed to be to busy to help him. If he wasn't healing whatever little cuts and bruises people acquired from day to day -practicing his healing arts on humans and Animal-persons- then he was studying Earth's medicine and medical texts to learn how humans (and Animal-persons) healed themselves without magic. He said he came to Earth to help the rebels and healing the sick and wounded was the only way he could help since he wasn't a warrior. Gohan understood that, and after living a week with the group, he understood just how important it really was. But it still felt like his water-brother was avoiding him.

With a sigh, Gohan lifted the full water vase out of the river and made his way back to the hideout in Dragon Rock.

The path he took allowed the hansaiya to reach the main entrance without passing the Wall. The memorial wall with the names of their fallen inscribed across it. Seeing his own name listed among the dead gave him an eerily surreal feeling. But there was no way to avoid the posters of his father in the common area, just inside the main entrance.

Two old-looking Saiyan propaganda posters. Each sporting a picture of his father. Broken and dead, hanging limp between two pillars, held up only by the chains around his wrists. Gohan never witnessed his father's execution. He never saw how his father died. He only heard bits and pieces of it from Bulma. The bits and pieces a boy could be proud of. How he didn't cringe or shrink away. How he walked to his death strong and defiant. His head held high. They might kill him, but they would never defeat him. And, of course, his final words.

'I am Son Goku. I am an Earthling!'

The only word on the propaganda posters was 'Earthling'. That was all the Saiyans printed on their posters. It was most likely meant to crush their spirits. The image of a bloody, beaten, broken, and dead man. Chained and helpless. Labeled 'Earthling'.

But someone had crossed that word out on these two posters. Instead writing in the words 'Sacrifice' and 'Remember', respectively.

Remember Son Goku. He was our hero. He fought the Demon King Piccolo for us, saved the world from his domination. Defeated the Red Ribbon Army and removed their crime syndicate from power. Saved villages. Rescued women and old men. Defeated monsters and tyrants. Helped strangers. Always did what was right. Even if it seemed impossible. He achieved the impossible. Showed that it was possible. Helped others do the same. Son Goku. Remember him.

Sacrifice… Goku sacrificed himself so that others could live. Believing that doing so would save the life of his wife and son. That turning himself in, the deserter and criminal, would absolve the people of Earth of harboring a fugitive. That the Saiyans and the monarchy would leave them in peace. He gave his own life. And while time and events showed that that sacrifice was in vain, we should always remember that it was for Earth and her people that Son Goku gave his life.

Looking at those two posters gave Gohan a roiling mixture of emotions.

The most easy to identify of which was anger. Anger at the fact that his father's sacrifice helped nothing. Angry that his death was meaningless. Angry that he was robbed of the chance to get to know him as a man instead of the idealized figure his vague memories made him out to be.

Jealous, too. Jealous that these people -some of whom were complete strangers like Lunch and Pilaf- knew his father better than he did. Spent more time with his father than he had. Knew him longer. Actually had the chance to fight along side him (or against him, as the case may be).

Then, underneath the hot but potent surface anger, and the quiet but simmering jealousy, was a creeping, whispering sense of fear, or inadequacy. They brought him here because he was the son of their hero. Risked their lives to steal a ship. Crossed half the galaxy to an alien planet they knew very little about. All to bring him home. So that he could be their new savior. Their new hero. So that he could take up his father's mantle. Son Gohan, son of Son Goku. Hero and Champion of Earth. That was a high expectation to live up to. Gohan wasn't sure if he had it in him.

He could fight for them. He enjoyed fighting. More than he preferred to let on, actually. It was woven into his blood. The desire for violence. But fighting for them and championing for them were two different things. A champion required a strength and conviction that he just didn't feel for their cause. He couldn't bring himself to sacrifice his own personal codes and morals for them. He would not kill for them. He loved to fight. But killing was something that Gohan, son of Goku, had no taste for. (Unless he was killing for food.)

Piccolo tried to explain to him that there were certain situations where killing was justifiable, even necessary, or unavoidable. Situations such as you or them. A kill or be killed scenario. Where the only way to finally stop an opponent from coming at you was to kill them. Rendering them unconscious would just provoke them further once they did awake. Physically disabling them would just prompt them to become more creative in their murderous endeavors. A scenario like that was very real and possible when fighting Saiyans. Forget real and possible. It was downright likely! Saiyans did not accept defeat graciously. Saiyans did not accept defeat at all.

Kuririn tried to make him understand that killing was okay if it was in the protection of your family, your home, or the people you cared for. That altruism sounded nice in theory, but that no man can ever be that pure. Not even Goku was in his life. Life was not a nice and neat division of black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. The world was a shifting sea in shades of gray.

Academically, Gohan understood all of that. But just because he understood did not mean he agreed. Because he did not agree, he could not give himself completely over to their cause. He could not be the hero they wanted him to be. Honestly, Dende was more devoted to their cause than he was and he had fewer connections to this world and these people than Gohan himself did.

Turning away from the posters, Gohan exited the common area and continued down a corridor to the hollowed-out rock chamber he was given as a room.

A few of the passages in the Dragon Rock cave system were natural. Existing long before the Saiyans arrived. Before the rebels found need and purpose for them as a hideout and base. But most of the caverns were new. Artificial. Man made. As their rag-tag group of guerrilla troops and freedom fighters grew, so did the demand for more space in the hideout. So, new tunnels were dug. More of the mountain hollowed out.

It was down one of these new man-made corridors that Gohan walked when he, quite literally, smacked into another person coming around a corner.

The scent of her long dark hair hit him and Gohan found himself digging his fingers into the rock of the wall to keep from falling off balance -both literally and figuratively.

Videl Satan had been a source of awkwardness and tension for him almost from the first moment he arrived at Dragon Rock.

Not because she continued to remain aloof and sometimes even slightly hostile to him, but because of the effect she had on him. The dark haired action-girl made his blood boil, but not in the same way that a challenging fight got him all fired up. The scent of her hair, the movements of her body, the sound of her laugh when she was with her friends… It did funny things to him, made him feel excited but also terrified all at the same time. It made it difficult to focus on his original reasons for coming to Earth in the first place.

"Watch where you're going!" She snapped up at him from their hight difference. Gohan stood a little over a head taller than her.

"Sorry." He muttered even though she wasn't listening. Videl just pushed past him, her backside brushing against his thighs as she did so. The scent of her hair wafting up to teas his senses. Gohan found himself suppressing a blush as his eyes lingered on her retreating form a moment to long to be a casual glance.

Swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat and doing his best to suppress or ignore the roaring in his blood, Gohan continued on his way.

He placed the water vase beside his cot and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable or even a little claustrophobic in the small hollowed-out stone chamber. The hansaiya was suddenly craving motion and excitement. Movement. He just got back to his room, but Gohan found himself leaving it again. Stalking through the narrow stone corridors, passing the posters of his father in the common area, and back out of the cave.

Dragon Rock used to be a very familiar area to him when he was a child. Now almost a decade has passed since he last explored its fissures and canyons. He used to play here with Higher Dragon. Gohan never did learn what happened to him. Was the small but friendly and almost always cheerful winged dragon killed by the Saiyans as well? Or was he also hiding out somewhere among the rocks and the caves?

The others warned him that it was to risky to fly while near the base. That a Saiyan patrol might pick up flight-ki on their scouters. So, Gohan began a light jog instead. He had no real path or destination in mind. The paths and corridors were familiar to him, but just enough of the landscape had chanced in these past eight years to get him lost easily. So, rather than follow a path he thought he knew, or set a destination he no longer know how to get to, Gohan's objective was exploration. To reacquaint himself with his childhood playground.

Wind buffering and sand-spray had smoothed a rock face that the hansaiya could have sworn was rough and course eight years ago. A mudslide had taken out one of his mother's nature trails. A rock slide had diverted a small stream down a narrower path. Gohan follower it. Heading up river, out of Dragon Rock and up into Mount Paozu proper.

For the most part, the woods and forests of Mount Paozu looked as they should. Lush and green. Not touched by the Saiyans. But every here and there Gohan could see signs that this was not always the case. The forest seemed to have many more clearings than the young hansaiya remembered. Wide open areas that, while still covered in greenery, ground shrubs, grass, moss, even wild flowers, still didn't seem quite right. The soil beneath the grass while rich and dark looking was just a bit to dark, more like ash than soil. The moss, while thick and lush, a healthy bright green, grew in the forms and shaped of broken trees and fallen branches. Even in the thicker parts of the woods, not near a clearing, Gohan would come across a burnt or broken part of a tree that did not belong.

Perhaps the Saiyans had ravaged Mount Paozu, but in the past eight years the forest grew back. That was good news. That meant that there was a chance for the rest of the Earth, if the rebels could defeat the Saiyans and push them back off planet.

That thought gave the hansaiya pause.

That was the reason why they brought him here. To defeat the Saiyans and push them off planet. Be their champion. Be their hero. Be like his father. Gohan didn't quite know if he could do that. Yeah, he was a decent fighter. But save the world? That was a bit to big for him. He only came here to protect Dende and make sure his water-brother didn't get himself killed. He could be a strong and protective big brother. Goodness knew he got plenty of practice being big brother to the kids. But champion and hero…? That was just to much. He was no hero. He was just a guy trying to get by in the universe without losing anymore of the people he cared about to the monarchy.

Gohan's thoughts came careening to a halt, however, when he looked up and realized exactly where his feet had carried him.

A circle of broken stone and crumbling drywall. The wooden frame already rotted away. Broken glass on the ground that might have been to a window. A pile of bricks where the chimney used to be. Well and septic tank covers exposed. It was the remains of a house.

It was the remains of his house.

Gohan didn't know if he wanted to stay or to go. Part of him wanted to just run away from the ruins of his parents' house. Hide from the reminder of a calmer, happier time in his life. Before the Saiyans, before the monarchy, before his father was taken from him and he and his mother were ripped from their home and forced to live in hiding because the monarchy would kill him and his brother otherwise. Kill them for no other crime than simply existing. The monarchy did not suffer a hansaiya to live.

But another part of him, that same slightly morbid part of him that also wanted to learn all the details of his father's execution, wanted to stay. To walked through that empty foundation, where the halls and rooms of his house used to be. Wanted to see and to memorize every last spec of crumbling drywall. Every line to every crack. Map out how the vines, and the weeds, and the shrubs of the forest chose to grow over and claim what was left of his first home.

Paralyzed by his warring desires. To stay. To go. Gohan did nothing. Only stood there. Staring.

The sound of cicada and crickets told him that it was getting late, but the thing that finally snapped the hansaiya out of his emotional paralysis was the sound of a voice.

An older sounding voice, but hiding ancient strength. "I was wondering when you'd finally make your way here."

Gohan turned to see Muten Roshi, the Turtle Hermit, standing behind him. Leaning on his staff as if he actually needed the support, which they both knew he did not.

"Ah, good evening, Roshi-san." Because his mother made damn sure he was polite, even during times of emotional shock.

"There's nothing here now." Roshi told him.

Those words were like a lance that pierced right down to Gohan's heart. There was nothing here. His old home was gone. Destroyed by the Saiyans when they took him and his mother and then reclaimed by the woods and forests of the mountain when things settled enough for them to grow again. "I… uh, I see that."

"I mean, Oolong and I moved your father's things as soon as it was safe to do so. You won't find them here."

"Oh?" Gohan wasn't really sure what the old man was talking about. He hadn't exactly come here looking for anything from his father. His feet just carried him in whatever direction felt natural to them and he wound up here.

"We didn't know what to do with them, so we kept them safe." Continued the old master. "But I think they should be passed to you."

"To me?" Heirlooms from his father? "Show me?"

Roshi smiled and lead the hansaiya back through the forrest. Down the mountain and back to the rebellion's hideout at Dragon Rock.

At first, Gohan thought the old man was gonna take him to the kitchens. Where else would an heirloom of his father's be stored but close to his favorite thing aside from fighting. But he did not. Then Gohan thought they might be going to the old Master's own room, perhaps he kept Goku's heirloom with his own things. But they did not venture near the base's dormitories. Finally, they stopped at a conference room.

Lunch -the brunette Lunch- and Emperor Pilaf were poring over what looked like a map while the cat-sage Korin threw in a comment or two.

It was Lunch who noticed him first. Looking up when they entered. A wide, welcoming smile spread over her face. "Hello there, Gohan. Are you settling on okay? Is everyone being nice to you? I know some people could be a little more polite."

His mind instantly jumped to Videl Satan. The young warrior in training around his own age whom refused to say two polite words to him together. He wasn't quite sure what her issue with him was, but the fact that she seemed to detest him so much did bother him more than he liked to admit. Especially since she affected him so strongly in other ways. It was very frustrating.

"We're in the middle of something here." Pilaf interrupted before the hansaiya could answer. "Did the boy need something, Roshi?"

The Turtle Hermit ignored the diminutive self-proclaimed Emperor and instead focused his attention on Korin. The sagely old cat nodded his head as if reading the old man's thoughts. He padded over to a cabinet in the back of the conference room and pulled out a small locked box.

"What's that?"

Lunch rolled up their map to make space for Korin to set it down while Roshi pulled a key from behind his beard to unlock it. The box lid was lifted and Gohan saw three items. A sphere-shaped rock, a red stick, and an orange dogi. The dogi he recognized instantly. It was the same orange dogi his father worse in every single memory Gohan had of him. The uniform of the Kame-ryu school.

The stick took him a moment longer. Gohan lifted the red pole from the box to examine it more closely. Noting it fine sheen, not quite lacquer, not quite polish, more like the sheen of enchantment. A magic stick? Then it hit him. "Nyoi-bo."

Roshi nodded. His father's legendary weapon of choice.

Gohan lifted the final item from the box. The round rock. It was a perfect sphere. Perfect. Rocks this round and smooth didn't exist naturally. Another magical item then? But what was it? He couldn't remember his father ever keeping or using a rock. Not even to throw at an enemy. "But what's this supposed to be?"

"That," began Korin, "is -or rather was- the Four Star Dragon Ball. Goku's keepsake from his Grandpa Gohan. Your namesake."

"Oh." He replied. "That's right. After Piccolo fused with Kami, the Earth's Dragon Balls reverted back to rock." Gohan gathered up his father's heirlooms and packed them back into their box. "Uh, thanks, guys. I'm gonna go put these away now."

"Gohan, wait!" Lunch stopped him before he could leave. "There's one other thing. Since I don't think your father's dogi will fit you quite right. Wait right here."

The cheerfully sweet brunette dashed out of the room and returned again several minutes later holing another orange dogi. "I borrowed one of your extra Namekian tunics to get the measurements right. A dogi just like the one your father used to wear! Except I put Demon King Jr.'s symbol in the place of the Kame symbol, since he was the one that trained you, not Roshi-sama."

"Oh." Gohan took the offered dogi. Just one more way they wanted him to become like his father. Not that that was a particularly bad thing. Son Goku was a great man who helped a lot of people and touched a lot of lives. But, Gohan barely remembered him. He barely knew these people whom were his friends and they barely knew him. And when they looked at him, Gohan felt like they didn't actually see him, but rather just a younger version of his father. "Thank you, Lunch. That was very kind of you."

"I'm glad you like it." She smiled.

Pilaf gave a huff of irritation and unfurled the rolled map with a snap. "If you're all done exchanging Goku memorabilia, maybe we can get back to planning the next strike! Now that we've got him-" the diminutive Emperor jabbed a finger at Gohan "-I think we should be more aggressive."


	13. The Benefit of the Village

Mama and Chichi-san told them both to stay away from the Saiyan visitor. Especially Trunks.

But the boys, naturally, ignored those orders.

Neither of them had ever seen a real full-blooded Saiyan before and they were curious about these monsters that their mothers feared so much. But Tarble didn't seem all that scary. He was barely even taller than they were and they were only eight! Sure, he had a halfway decent feeling ki, but after watching his movements for a while, Trunks quickly decided that he wasn't much of a fighter. Tarble didn't carry himself like a warrior. His stride was quick and purposeful, but not measured and controlled. His movements purposeful, but not precise. If they had to defend their mothers from him, Trunks was confident they could handle him.

Then Goten did something very stupid.

He hopped out from their hiding place and walked right up to the alien visitor.

"Oi! Chibi!" Trunks hissed after his friend.

But it was to late. Goten already stood in front of the Saiyan. Wide eyed and smiling. "Hi."

"Hello there?" Tarble replied, looking surprised and confused. But not threatening. Trunks could sense no immediate danger from the alien. "And who are you, little one? You couldn't possibly be Trunks. You look too much like someone else I met recently."

"Huh?" Goten blinked at him, not understanding. "I'm Got-"

That was when Trunks stepped in. Clamping his hands firmly over his friend's mouth. "Quiet, stupid! Our moms said not to talk to him."

Tarble placed a hand to his mouth, suppressing a laugh at their antics, or stifling a gasp at Trunks' appearance. "You must be Trunks. Even with your mother's coloring, there is a look of House Vegeta to your face. You have the tsurime eyes."

Trunks paused at that statement. He didn't quite understand everything. How this alien even knew of him in the first place was a mystery since Mama and Chichi-san were usually so carful when dealing with off-worlders. But the thing that made him turn back to the Saiyan was not how he knew his name but rather, "'Vegeta'… I've heard that word before. Mama says it when she's mad at me. I have a lot of 'vegetal' in me. What does that mean? Is it a Saiyan thing?"

Tarble looked at him shocked.

In his arms, Goten struggled and mumbled into his arm. "Truns ur srangling meh!"

"You- you mean you don't even know your father's name?"

Trunks was about to reply, but his words were cut off rather abruptly when Goten bit into his arm, hard! "Ow!"

"I couldn't breath!" The younger hansaiya whined. "You're mean! You say we're not supposed to talk to him, but you're talking to him! I wanna talk too!" Turning to Tarble now, Goten asked, "How come you're so interested in Trunks, huh? What about me? My big brother was the first Han Sigh!"

"He means 'hansaiya'." Trunks translated. But the Chibi did bring up some good points. Why was this Saiyan so interested in him? Goten's big brother was The First, and while they were all brothers through water, Goten and Gohan were brothers through blood. Logic would follow then that Saiyans and other off-worlders would be more interested in Goten than in him. After all, who was he? Trunks knew his mother was someone important back on Earth before the Saiyans took her away. But that had little effect on her life now. So, why was this alien so interested in him?

Tarble offered a good natured smile and patted Goten on the head. This guy seemed nothing like the cruel and blood-thirsty monsters his Mama and Chichi-san described to him. He almost reminded Trunks a little bit of Gohan -and not just because they had the same stupid hair style.

"Well, you see, little one, Trunks is actually my nephew. His father is my brother."

That was a shocker.

Goten pondered that for a moment, then smiled. "Oh! Then Trunks is my nephew too! 'Cause Trunks' Mama is my brother! We all share water." Then he paused for thought. "Wow… I've got a lot of nephews then… Dende's my nephew, cause we share water with his father. But wait, we share more water with Dende! So… would that make Dende the brother and his father the nephew? I donno… What makes a nephew different from a brother?"

"I'm afraid you've lost me, little one." Tarble laughed.

"Goten, shut-up! A 'nephew' hasn't got anything to do with sharing water."

"Oh." The younger hansaiya laughed happily. "Good, because that was just confusing."

Trunks turned his attention back to the Saiyan stranger. There was very little mention about his father around the house, and when Mama or Chichi-san did speak of him, it was in hushed tones as if they did not want the children to hear. There was a great deal more talk about Goten and Gohan-oniisan's father. He was a hero. He was a champion. A martyr. Someone to be proud of. But Trunks' father was… obscure. Trunks asked his Mama about his father once. But all she told him was that he wasn't a bad man, he just did bad things. That didn't help much. It certainly hadn't answered any of Trunks' questions about the man or eased the burning itch of curiosity that welled up every time the subject was brought up.

But if this Saiyan was his father's brother… if this Saiyan was his uncle, maybe he could give Trunks the answers he wanted. "You knew my father?"

"Still do know him." Nodded the alien. "Or, at least, as well as one can know him. Vegeta-niisan is a very hard man to get to know."

So, his name was 'Vegeta'. That cleared some things up. Whenever his mother said there was 'a lot of Vegeta' in him, she meant he was a lot like his father. So then, his father must have exasperated her too. But she still liked him. The way that Mama and Chichi-san didn't talk about him, Trunks had wondered if he was an evil Saiyan like the ones that killed Goten's dad. But he wasn't evil. That was good. But he wasn't like Goten's dad. The way Mama and Chichi-san talked about the late Son Goku, one might mistake him for an idol -a focus of revery.

Then the tense that his uncle used caught up with the young hansaiya and he did a double take, blinking at the older Saiyan. "My father is alive?"

"Of course!" Tarble nodded.

"Huh?" Goten pipped up, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. "But I thought Trunks' father died around the same time my dad died. That's why Bulma-san came to live with Mama and Oniichan."

Trunks nodded. "I'm little, Uncle Tarble, but I'm not stupid. Mama explained to me that its against the law for Saiyans to have kids with other races. That's why Goten's dad was killed. Why would my father be spared? Or, if he escaped, why isn't he here with my Mama and I?"

The elder Saiyan blinked at the lavender haired boy. "Trunks, you don't know who your father is… I guess Bulma-neesan wouldn't have a reason to tell you. But your father isn't just any Saiyan warrior. Vegeta-niisan is the-"

"Excuse me."

All three of them looked up to see the village elder, leaning on his staff.

"I'm sorry to interrupt." He offered a tense smile of apology. "But I must speak with the Saiyan visitor -alone. And you two… didn't your mothers tell you not to go near him."

The boys, now looking like thieve caught making off with sweets from the kitchen offered hurried apologies before dashing off out of sight. Out of sight, but not yet out of earshot.

Trunks grabbed Goten by the shoulder and dragged the younger boy to the ground behind the nearest house and hissed for him to be silent. Trunks strained his ears to hear whatever it was the elder wanted to discuss with the Saiyan… his uncle. What news that was. His father's brother. And his father was alive.

"We've been receiving many visitors recently." Said the elder, pulling Trunks back to the here and now and what he was trying to eavesdrop on. "What I would like to know from you, Visitor, is whether or not this is just an unusual coincidence or the start of a trend. Will others be coming to our village looking for our human and hansaiya brothers?"

Uncle Tarble was a long time in answering and it gave Trunks the opportunity to realize just how coincidental it really was. To have people from Earth come looking for Gohan-oniisan then almost immediately after have his uncle come looking for him. As his mother taught him, once was just an isolated insolent, twice was a coincidence, but three times is a pattern. They had two visitors thus far, both looking for hansaiya. Only one more visitor would turn that coincidence into a pattern. So then, was this just a coincidence, or was it really the start of a pattern? And would the other hypothetical visitors be as friendly and polite as Mama's friends from Earth or his uncle?

Finally, Tarble answered, "I would like to tell you that your peaceful lives will return to normal. But that would be a lie. Do you know who Bulma-neesan and her son really are?"

"Brother-Bulma is a human fugitive from the monarchy, Trunks is the product of a forbidden mingling of human and Saiyan blood." The elder replied. "That much is obvious. If there is any more to her story, it is not my place to pry. If my brother wishes me to know, she will tell me in her own time."

A sort of half-deprecating laugh escaped Tarble's lips. "You are a very trusting people. Other Saiyans would call you 'soft', but you remind me a bit of my mate's people. Only Hamesh can see all secrets and know all truths of all people, and it is not the place of mortal men to pry into their neighbors' affairs. But I have not answered your question. You want to know if others will come. If I am the herald to a danger to your people or worse, an invasion by the monarchy."

In their hiding place, Trunks clenched his hands into fists at the idea of the evil Saiyan monarchy invading his home and threatening him brothers.

At his side, Goten whispered, "Trunks, what does that mean?"

"Shush!" The older boy slapped his hand over his friend's mouth to keep him silent.

"I can't give you certainties, Old One." Tarble continued. "But I can tell you that, because of who Bulma is, and because of who her son is, the danger of others coming will remain a likelihood for as long as they remain here. And others may not be as respectful as I am. I offered Bulma-neesan the chance for her and her son to come with me. That offer still stands. If they were to come with me, the danger to your people will leave with them."

There was a pause, then the elder gave a short humorless laugh. "You're a cunning one, Saiyan. You are trying to manipulate me into convincing my brother and her son to go with you. You're right, you are far more polite than any Saiyan I've ever heard of. But you're still no different from them."

"I'm nothing like them!" The venom in Tarble's words made Trunks wince. "I am a Gyujin!"

"I do not know of the Gyujin people." Said the elder. "But to me its clear that you are still just as selfish and self-serving as any other Saiyan. Only instead of using violence and intimidation, you try subtlety and manipulation. You are different, Tarble of the Monkeys, but you're also exactly the same."

Tarble snarled something in a language Trunks didn't understand, but he knew a bad word when he heard one. Goodness knew he'd been scolded for using enough of them.

It seemed like the conversation was over, and as the elder had so kindly reminded them, they were not supposed to go near the Saiyan visitor anyway. Trunks grabbed Goten by the arm and pulled him out from behind their hiding place in the direction of home. But Trunks made a promise to keep an eye on this Saiyan -his uncle- until he could decide if he really could be trusted or not. He seemed to imply that he and his Mama were special somehow and that their specialness would put Ighai Village and possibly all of Namek in danger. Trunks didn't know if he believed that or not. But if it were true, maybe he and his Mama should take Uncle Tarble up on his offer. If it was to protect their Namekian brothers…

And besides, maybe if they did go with Tarble, maybe, just maybe, Trunks would get to meet the father he'd heard so little about.

…

It was many days after that before Trunks heard discussion about his uncle again.

He kept a carful watch on the alien visitor in that time. Noting when he left to hunt the big game that lived out in the wilds, when he returned to wait within his shuttle. Trunks could only guess what he did in there besides sleep. Did send messages to off world? Was he talking to his brother -Trunks' father? Or was he in contact with others that might find he and his mother of interest?

And that was another question the lavender haired hansaiya wanted answered. Why should he and his mother be so interesting to the monarchy? What made them more special than Goten and Chichi-san? After all, Chichi was wife of the famous defector and the mother of The First hansaiya. Shouldn't she and Goten be more interesting to the monarchy that he was? What was he? The half-breed son of an escaped scientist -the son of a slave. Aside from the fact that his very existence was against the law, there was nothing special about him.

He didn't ask his Mama. Trunks knew that to bring the subject up would just prompt her to ask where he would get the idea? Then he would have to confess that he and Goten spoke with Tarble. Sure, he could lie. Say he overheard someone else talking about him. But Mama was very good at seeing through his fibs and something told him that in this instance, it was in his best interest not to make Mama mad. So, he said nothing, asked nothing, and simply watched his uncle from afar.

Trunks wasn't the only one.

Mama and Chichi-san also kept close tabs on the Saiyan. The weren't as adept hunters as he and Goten were. They did not have the training given them by Piccolo nor the instincts to hone such training. Neither did they have the noses to smell. They didn't know to keep down-wind from their quarry so as to avoid detection. More often than not, Trunks noticed Tarble noticing Chichi-san before he noticed Trunks himself. He knew he was being watched. But he said nothing about it and went about his business such as it was.

The brothers of the village also kept a cautious eye on him. Noting when he left and in what direction he flew. How long he was gone. When he came back. If he brought anything with him.

Thought everyone tried to hide it and go about their days as normally and casually as possible, it was impossible to deny that the alien visitor had become the center of their attention.

The elder visited Tarble in his shuttle twice more, each visit lasting longer than the one before it. Each time, the elder leaving with a grim, thoughtful expression on his face. As if debating a hard issue. Trunks wished he could sneak inside the shuttle to overhear what it was that his uncle talked about with the elder. But he knew that was something he'd never be able to get away with.

Finally, after several days had passed, the elder came to the house to speak with Mama and Chichi-san.

He was sober and grimaced standing in the doorway, leaning on his staff. As if bent by the weight of a heavy decision. Chichi-san took one look at him and ushered the boys out of the house. Trunks and Goten did not take kindly to being kicked out of their own home. Especially not during one of the rare and few times they were actually sitting quietly and weren't in the mood for flying high, racing, or fighting. But one look at his own Mama told Trunks that it was in his and Goten's best interest not to put up much of a fuss and just go with it.

Making himself the adults' unlikely ally, he grabbed the younger hansaiya by the collar of his dogi and pulled him past the elder and out the door. "C'mon, Chibi, lets go play outside while the grown-ups talk about boring grown-up things."

Goten put up a slight fuss. But the moment they were out of the house, Trunks doubled back. Pulling them both around to the back kitchen window. They crouched down, hugging the wall to keep out of sight of their mothers and suppressed their ki to stay below the notice of the elder. Goten realized what his friend's plan was the moment he felt Trunks suppress his ki. They were playing Spy. Trunks explained it to him before. It was a game where you tried to keep really quiet, keep your energy low, and sneak up on someone and surprise them. He followed his friend's example and likewise suppressed his ki and touched down to listen.

"May we share water?" Said the elder.

That was Trunks' second warning that something was up. Water-brothers never had to ask to share water, they just did it. The elder had been their water-brother since… since forever! Since as long as Trunks could remember.

"Of course!" Was Chichi's reply, followed soon by the sounds of a vase being un stoppered and a cup being filled.

Trunks noted that his own Mama did now say anything.

Then the adults were quiet for a few moments while they passed the cup around and sipped the water. At his side, Goten shifted into a more comfortable position and suppressed the urge to ask a question. Lest the sound of his voice tip off the grown-up to their eavesdropping.

"It has been some time since I was inside this house." The elder commented.

"It has." Chichi agreed.

"What brings you here now, Elder?" Mama asked, cutting directly to the point.

The elder was silent a moment longer before finally answering, "A troubling thought has plagued my mind of late. Travelers from Earth come to collect warriors. This Saiyan, Tarble, come hoping to collect little Trunks… Things are moving out there, beyond the sky where we cannot see. I do not know what it is, but I do know that I want to keep our people out of it."

There was a pause while the elder sipped the water cup again. Trunks knew that was the pause because it was punctuated by the sound of a cup being set down on the table before he continued.

"I don't want others from off our world to come here. Especially not if they might mean us harm. The Saiyan, Tarble, has implied that so long as you, Brother-Bulma, and Trunks remain here, others will come. He greatly implied that you and Trunks are people of great interest to the monarchy, and that others would come here looking for you. Is this true?"

The silence that followed this question was tense. Crouching outside the window, Trunks edged closer to the wall, anxious to not miss a thing. There was the sound of someone drinking from the cup, not sipping it, but golfing it down. Then of more water being pored from the vase and the cup being slid across the table.

Finally, Mama said, in a voice low and sober, "Yes, its true."

"I see." Replied the elder. "Brother-Bulma, do you believe others will come looking for you and your son?"

Mama paused again before answering, "I don't know. The reason we lived unbothered for so long was because no one knew we where here. But Tarble found us by accident. I don't know if he might have told anyone else off world before coming here. I also don't know how my brothers from Earth learned we were here. -Although, I do know enough about them to be able to guess.- But as far as Tarble and the monarchy are concerned… I just don't have an answer."

"Thank you for your candor." The elder paused to sip the water cup. "Now, I have an unfair request. As your water-brother I don't want to ask you this, but as the elder of this village and a leader of one of the Seven Clans I have to think about what's best for the people. If others from the monarchy will come looking for you and Trunks, could you go into hiding elsewhere? Off Namek."

Outside, Trunks stifled a gasp and slapped his hand quickly over Goten's mouth to keep him quiet too. Inside, their mothers had similarly disbelieving reactions.

"What!?" Chichi screeched. "How can you ask her that!? Where would they go? Where could they go? This is the safest place for them. And you're asking them to leave!"

"Chichi, its okay." Mama said in that tense but even and level voice she used when she was also upset but trying to keep it under control for the sake of those with her. "Remember, we're guests on this world. We were always guests on this world. Elder… I-" A pause for breath. "Before the monarchy came to my planet, my family owned a very large company. I know you don't have any large industry here, so thing of the 'company' as a sort of village. Sometimes my father would have to fire an employee -to kick someone out of the village. He always hated having to do it. It meant the person would have to look for work somewhere else and go an amount of time without income and support. But it was my father's job to think about what's best for the company -for the village. I understand that that's what you're doing now. I don't want to go. But as your water-brother, not your guest, but one with whom you share water, I will do what is best for the village."

"Thank you."

There was the sound of scraping chairs. Then Mama said, "Chichi, would you mind seeing the elder out?"

Crouching under the window Trunks crossed his arms over his chest, contemplating what he'd just heard. He knew that Gohan-oniisan's and Goten's dad was someone big and important and that because of him, the monarchy would be very interested to know their whereabouts. But what was so special about him. Tarble, his self-proclaimed 'uncle', said that his father was someone important to the monarchy. The elder was afraid that because of that, others would come looking for them and Mama agreed that it was possible. Now they had to leave Namek, but Trunks couldn't figure out how. They didn't have a space ship. Mama said that she tore apart their ship to build their house. The only other option was to go with Uncle Tarble. But Mama did-

HIs train of though was cut off rather abruptly by a cup of water being splashed over his head.

Trunks looked up to see his Mama leaning on the windowsill.

"Are you done eavesdropping?" She asked.

"What? We haven't been dropping eaves!" Goten protested. "I don't even know what eaves are, or where we could pick them up to drop them!"

Bulma suppressed a smile at Goten's naiveté while Trunks smacked himself in the forehead. "She means we were listening, Chibi."

"Oh!" The younger hansaiya smiled.

Bulma smiled back at the boy before turning her summer-sky gaze back to her own son. "I assume you heard everything. You know we're leaving." She did not wait to receive his nod of confirmation. "We don't have a ship of our own anymore, our only option is to leave with the Saiyan Tarble. But we cannot trust him. Do you understand me, Trunks? Tarble ben Malpe is not our friend. Do not listen to what he says. Do not agree to anything he asks of you. And above all else, do not share water with him! He is the brother of your father by blood, but he is not our water-brother, nor does deserve to be. Do you understand me?"

Trunks paused only a second to go over everything she'd just said one more time. She confirmed that Tarble was his uncle. But that did not make him trustworthy. Tarble was not and could not be their water-brother. "I understand."

"Good." Bulma nodded. "Now, in order for him to take us off world, I'll need to do something for him. He'll want me to go to Vegeta-sei and talk to someone for him. When we go to Vegeta-sei, I want you to stay on the ship and stay hidden. It is a very dangerous planet for a hansaiya. Do you understand that? While we're on Vegeta-sei, you will stay on the ship and stay out of sight!"

"Yes, Mama."

"Now you and Goten go play. This may be some of the last time you get to spend together. Have fun and leave all the worrying to me."


	14. The Savior of the Earth

The work camp was once Orange Star City. A young but flourishing metropolis just north of Mount Paozu and south of East City. But that was before the Saiyan occupation. Now it was a work camp. The monarchy having cleared much of the tall offices and dense towers away and replaced them with refineries for the ores their mined from the planet. Blast furnaces, brick molds, cooling stations, store houses, loading docks, vehicle hangars, and short flimsy barracks for the workers.

As one of the few humans that still managed to retain his body's muscle mass and strength, Hercule Satan's assigned job in the camp was to feed the fuel, ore and flux in through a funnel at the top of the furnace.

High up, perched near the top of the central grid work, Mr. Satan did the job of three men. Operating the freight elevator that carried the supplies to the top, unloading the heavy fuel tanks, unrefined ore, and limestone blocks that would be used as flux, then feed all of it into the furnace at a stead pace. The work was hard and it was hot, and sometimes Mr. Satan thought he would be just as happy if the stupid thing blew up instead. He didn't know much about metallurgy or all that sciencey stuff. He didn't know what the limestone was fore, or why the ore had to be put in with other stuff. But he did know that he handled a great deal of fuel every day, and he wondered what might happen if he just shoved the highly combustable fuel and nothing else inside the furnace instead.

Would it blow up? Killing him and taking out a chunk of the Orange Star work camp in the process. Or would it just gum-up the works a bit and piss off the evil alien overlords? Mr. Satan didn't know. He didn't mind dying all that much. He didn't know what happened to his daughter, but she was probably already dead by now. Joining her and her mother in the afterlife didn't sound to bad. But if the furnace didn't blow up and just stopped working right for a few hours, the Saiyan wouldn't punish just him. Everyone in the camp would share in the blame. So, not for himself, but for everyone else who shared in his fate, Mr. Satan didn't try. He just did as he was told. An obedient slave of the monarchy.

He hated the monarchy. But then, that was not a unique feeling. Everyone born on Earth hated the monarchy. Everyone remembered exactly where they were and what they were doing the day the aliens arrived.

Hercule Satan had been at a match.

He remembered it clearly. Videl wanted him to postpone or reschedule the fight so that he could come to some school thing of hers. A sports festival, or maybe a fundraiser? He hadn't payed that close attention at the time, now he couldn't remember. But the bottom like was, the last time Mr. Satan spoke to his daughter was over the phone and they both were angry. She called him a 'self-centered attention whore', and he said she was a 'spoiled brat that needed to grow up'. That was the last he heard from his little girl. The hadn't even entered its second round when the lights in the stadium went up and what sounded like typhoon sirens began blaring. Then only thing Mr. Satan could think of was that it wasn't typhoon season and that the emergency alert system was malfunctioning. Later, he and everyone else realized that the oncoming storm was much worse than any typhoon could ever be.

The invasion, if in fact, you could call a boot stamping an ant hill an 'invasion'. Did not last long. Only a day. One very confusing and terrifying day.

When it was over, a spokesperson for the invading Saiyans broadcasted over the entire planet that they were now the property of the monarchy and layer out how things were going to be from now on. At the end of the message, all Mr. Satan could think of was that he had no idea where his little girl was or how he was going to manage to find her under the new martial law. He hoped they would cross paths and find each other when most of the citizens of Orange Star City were sequestered and ushered into the work camp. But there was no Videl. Only him. And working up at the top of the furnace gave him plenty of time to think on and dwell on that fact.

One benefit of his post, however, was the view.

It was not a nice view by any stretch of the imagination. All steel and concrete. Dirty piping caked with grime and soot. Beneath it all the lowly and down-trodden wearing the tattered remains of what were once fashionable clothes. Going about their days carrying out the tasks assigned to them by their masters. That was not the benefit of the view.

The benefit of Mr. Satan's view was that he could see when any vehicles were coming or going from the camp. Freight carriers coming to collect their quota. Cattle cars to transfer workers between camps. Meat wagons to remove the dead. Even individual Saiyan guards flying off on or returning from personal errands.

At first, that was what Mr. Satan thought he was seeing when the three figures flew close enough to be identified as human-shaped, not birds or other manner of flying critter. But then, two other flyers rushed up to join them. Two Saiyan guards, as was evident by their armor and absurd hairstyles. The five of them got into a short skirmish before both were finished off by one of the three. A warrior dressed all in orange.

The three figures drifted closer and Satan saw that he was just a boy. The one that defeated the Saiyan guards was just a kid, no older than his daughter's age. But he must have been very powerful to defeat two Saiyan warriors so easily. Dressed in an orange dogi with an unfamiliar emblem on his and a short red staff resting in a bamboo sheath strapped to his back. He had a look of determination about him that rather reminded Satan of his own daughter, but there was a sullenness beneath the expression. Almost like he didn't really want to be here. Then again, who would want to be here?

His companions were equally strange. A man who looked like he had a third eye in the middle of his forehead and a long haired man with a bright orange handkerchief. Next to the deceptively strong kid in the orange dogi and the three-eyed man, he didn't look so odd, but he had an air of minis around him that made Satan pause and think twice about calling to the trio.

But he didn't need to call out to them. The boy in the orange dogi noticed him watching them and flew right up to Mr. Satan's catwalk.

"Good morning." He said politely, as if this were an ordinary school day and he a crossing guard. "Things are about to get a bit dangerous around here, Ojiisan. You might want to get clear."

For a moment Satan wasn't quite sure what he'd just been told. He was to thrown by the boy's neat manners and calm demeanor. Then his brain finally caught up to his ears and realized that these guys must be some of those rebels he sometimes heard rumors about. He didn't think they actually existed! After all, what human could take on a Saiyan warrior? They had all those weird alien tricks like flying and pointing at things and blowing them up. But here was this kid, floating in the air just as the Saiyans did with two other people behind him doing the same. Maybe the rebels were real after all. Maybe these guys were them! So then… did that make this a rebel attack?

Yeah. Suddenly, getting down from the furnace and finding a safe hiding place sounded really good right now. "H-hai, Rebel-san."

Mr. Satan began to slowly back-up towards the fright elevator -still half-full of limestone and ore.

"Or," added the one with three eyes, "if you want to try and make yourself useful, you could help our ground team free the rest of the workers in this camp. You don't look like much, but you still look more fit than the average person. Make yourself useful, or stay out of the way. The choice is yours. C'mon, Gohan. We have a mission."

"R-right." Nodded the kid and the three of them flew off towards the command complex.

Mr. Satan stood there for a moment longer, watching the trio fly head-on towards a host of reenforcing Saiyan warriors. Something about this felt so surreal. Unreal. Like that first hateful day. The day of the invasion. The first day of the occupation. Unreal. Unbelievable. It left him wondering if this was some sort of dream or hallucination. Something brought on by the heat of the furnace or exhaustion from shlepping heavy ore and fuel all day on little sleep and little food.

But then the shockwaves from their battle shook the complex and Mr. Satan thought maybe not. Maybe it was real, and maybe he should find a decent hiding place. Or, if he could, get out of the camp and away from the fight all together.

Satan jumped in the fright elevator, still half-full of limestone and ore, and practically slammed the DOWN lever.

When he got to the bottom, he was not surprised to find that most of the workers in the complex had stopped whatever it was they were doing to either stare up at the battle taking place over them, or else to run full bore in the opposite direction. Not that they could get far with the inhibitor collars they wore. As soon as any one of them was more than ten miles away from the complex the collar gave the wearer a small shock that would paralyze them. If they were not collected and brought back to the camp, or if they continued to travel away from the complex, the collar would give them a second -stronger- shock meant to kill a full-grown man.

Keeping that in mind, Mr. Satan decided that running away might not be his best option just yet. Hiding seemed most prudent for the moment. He dashed down an access walkway in search of a shortcut to the old Orange Star Highschool.

The work camp was built over the ruins of the old Orange Star City, the city itself having been completely destroyed. But some old building foundations still existed. Satan hoped that the gym's foundation was one of those because under the gym used to be a bomb shelter. It was one of the reasons he supported his daughter continuing in the public school system rather than moving her to a private school. While money was no object to him before the Saiyan occupation and he could afford to send Videl anywhere, not every private school took precautions to plan for the worst. Public schools, on the other hand, were required to.

Sometimes, he liked to imagine she might even have survived or gotten away because of it… But those were just nothing more than a father's dreams. He had no idea what happened to his little girl.

Then he heard something that made him freeze.

It was a sound he hadn't heard since the invasion. A sound he didn't think he would hear ever again on account o them being utterly useless against the Saiyans. It was the sound of a gunshot.

Satan paused in his step. Inched closer to the wall and peeked around the corner of the building he was using for cover.

A woman, around his own age, was pulling the inhibitor collar off of one of the human workers, a smoking gun still in her hand.

"There now." She said. "Told you I knew what I was doing. Now, who's next?"

She scanned the other gathered slaves, humans and Animals, looking for someone else willing to have their collar removed by a crazy lady with a gun. She turned, hooking her long dark hair behind her ear and spotted Satan peeking around the building.

"You. Get over here. Lets get that collar off while we can."

Mr. Satan stayed where he was. His face melting into a blank expression of innocent ignorance. He pointed one thick finger at himself, silently asking, "You mean me?"

"Yeah. C'mere." The woman crossed the distance between them and grabbed him by the collar of his brown gi. The same damn go he'd been wearing since the day of the invasion. She backed him up against the wall and shifted the collar around his neck so that the control clasp was to one side. "Now hold still. I know what I'm doing, but you still shouldn't move."

Satan began to tear in the corners of his eyes. He had no idea what was going on. Some guys with powers like the Saiyans were battling in the skies over the complex, it shook the ground and lit the air. But if that wasn't scary enough, some crazy woman was down here offering to remove people's slave collars, but doing it with a gun. If this was a prison break, then it was one hell of a psychotic prison break! Satan closed his already watery eyes.

There was the sound of a gunshot. The creak of metal. The crack of a bullet impacting the wall behind him. And the clank of a metal ring hitting the floor. Bits of dust and shrapnel from the wall behind him hit Satan in the back if the head and his neck burned on the side slightly. But the collar was gone. Satan blinked in disbelief.

"Now was that so bad?" Asked the woman.

Before Satan had the chance to answer, a dog-man appeared from the opposite end of the alley and shouted, "Mai, I've finished D-block, but Lunch sneezed and is now useless. I'm out of pepper, have you got anything on you?"

"Flash-poweder?" The woman -Mai- suggested. She tossed her pistol and a spare magazine to Satan. "As a thank you for freeing you, make yourself useful and help the rest of these people. I need to bring back a blond psycho."

They left.

All Satan could do was stand there staring, the chaos of the fight above him and the confusion of the people around him forgotten while his brain tried to process what in the world had just happened. This was all so unreal. Like something out of a bizarre dream. Was this a rebel strike, or a prison break, or both? What was he supposed to do now? He was free to fun and hide. Get away from here. Far away. Find some place where he would be safe from the battle and -win or louse- the Saiyans wouldn't be able to find him again.

He looked down at the gun in his hands. It wouldn't do much good against a Saiyan warrior. Maybe he could pass it off to someone else on his way out…

Satan looked up at the nearest person to him. He held out the gun. "Here."

They nodded and held out their hand to accept it. Their eyes met and Satan realized that it was a teenager, no older than Videl's age. Or rather, around the age she would be assuming she was still alive. The teen nodded.

"Never think on this place." He said.

For some reason those words cut him more than any scathing or damning words would have. The kid knew he was planning to run. His collar was off, the guards were distracted. He had no reason to stay. The teen knew this just as well as Satan did himself and did not begrudge him not wanting to stay and help. That struck something within Satan. He remembered Videl's final words to him over the phone.

'You're nothing but a self-centered attention whore! If there's no benefit for you, you have no time for other people!'

Satan withdrew the offered gun. Instead checking the barrel and cocking the weapon. "Stand still." He said. "I have no idea what I'm doing and I don't want to kill you."

The teen nodded, closed his eyes, and raised his chin.

Satan never really fired a gun before. Waterguns, bee-bee guns, and paintball guns in his youth. But never a real gun. Never anything that could kill a person. He hears somewhere that the best marksmen shoot with both eyes open. That when you focus on your target with both eyes open instead of closing one, a double image of the gunsight will appear and you should aim for right between the two images. He didn't know if that was true or not. But it seemed to make sense. So, Satan took aim. Took a breath to calm his nerves. Took another moment to steady his hand. Pulled the trigger.

The gun fired. The kick-back was more than he expected. But when he looked at the teen, the kid's inhibitor collar fell right off.

Satan sighed and again decided to pass the gun off to the kid. "This is a young man's job." He explained. "Shootin' at people is to hard on my nerves."

"Right." The kid nodded. He turned to the next nearest person to them and asked them to stand with the wall to their back. Then turned back to add, "Mr. Satan, I used to watch your fights on TV. You were the best. Live well."

Satan didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded before dashing down the ally. This time he actually was going to get out and get to safety. But as soon as he turned a corner there was another one.

Another rebel taking the collars off the camp prisoners. Another girl. Short blond hair. And when she turned around, Satan thought she looked a bit familiar. Younger than the first woman, Mai. In fact, she was just a teenager. No older than the boy he just left Mai's gun with. No older than the age Videl would be if she was still alive. When she saw him, her whole face lit up with recognition and Satan thought he definitely recognized her. He just couldn't put a name to the face.

Then she said, "Mr. Satan! Ohmygosh! I can't believe you're still alive! This is such great news! Videl will be so happy!"

In that instant the world dropped out of beneath his feet and stopped being important. The girl's name that he still only barely recognized stopped being important. The battle over head stopped being important. The fact that he spent the past eight years of his life in a Saiyan work camp stopped being important. All he heard was that his daughter would be happy he was still alive. That mean that she was still alive. His little baby girl lived through the invasion and all these years. She was safe. -Well, relatively safe. There was no such thing as safe on a Saiyan occupied world.

"Mr. Satan? Mr. Satan are you okay?"

If was only after the blond girl knelt down in front of him that Satan realized he must have fallen to his knees. Through his joy and his shock he managed to croak out, "She- she's alive?"

"Yeah! Videl, me, Sharpie… we're all still alive. Because of her, in fact." The girl smiled reassuringly and offered him a hand back to his feet. "You probably don't recognize me, I was a bit shorter and flatter back when you knew me. I'm Eresa. Videl's classmate. We went to school together. We were at school when they came. The teachers all told us to go to the shelter, but Videl refused, said we'd be trapping ourselves. Ran back outside and hid in a culvert behind the school. Sharpie, Angela and I followed her. And the four of us- well… the three of us now, have been together ever since."

"I'm… so glad." He was crying like a woman but didn't care. "Where is she now? Is she here?"

Eresa nodded. "Help me with my part of the mission and we'll all see each other at the rendezvous point when its over."

Satan nodded.

Eresa turned back to the prisoners and workers gathered around them. "While Gohan and the others keep the Saiyans busy up there, we're supposed to free all the slaves down here. This is the first really bold move we've made since deciding to fight back. I'm a little nervous. I'm glad you're here with me now, Mr. Satan."

"Ah-huh…" He replied, trying to follow everything she was saying. "Gohan… he's one of those three guys who can fly like the aliens can. Was he the one with the extra eye? Or the scary brunette with the bandanna?"

"Gohan? Oh, no. He's the cute one with the spiky hair." Eresa informed him as she examined the collar of the person closest to her. "Yamcha says these things were made at Capsule Corp and he showed us how to get them off, but I'm having trouble doing it. I heard over the radio that Lunch and Mai gave up and just started shooting them off with their guns. I haven't got a gun."

Satan wasn't exactly a tech-type person either, and he had also already passed off the gun he'd gotten from Mai to another prisoner. So he didn't think he would be of much help in freeing the other slaves. But he still leaned in anyway to examine the collar's locking mechanism. He knew it would not be easy to get off just by hand. If that were the case than any prisoner could just remove the collar of any other prisoner and they'd all be free within an hour. But he also had been wearing an inhibitor collar for the past eight years and knew a thing or two about them.

"Yamcha said that the old Dr. Briefs, before the monarchy killed him, used to program an emergency release in all his inventions." Explained Eresa. "Now these weren't made by him, but they were made by the same Earthling scientists that used to work for Capsule Corp before the occupation. Saiyans have no patience for science, and so all of their technology is stolen from and built by the races they conquer. Since these were made by Dr. Brief's people, Yamcha thinks the release code should be the same."

Eyeing the lock, Satan found what looked like a tiny number pad. So small that the buttons would have to be pressed by a paperclip or similar small poking tool. "What's the code?"

"Its supposed to be the day Dr. Brief's daughter was born. Bulma Briefs."

Satan thought back. He wasn't really much onto science or science geeks. But he had still heard of the infamous Bulma Briefs. Mostly just what was said about her in the media. Satan could not count the times he opened a magazine or tabloid, looking for articles on himself and come across a coulomb or two, heck, sometimes even a full article, about the young and wild genius. She had been really attractive for a nerd too. Slender but curvy, with all the right things in all the right places. Had they ever met, he definitely would have tried to pick her up. But he had no idea what her birthday was. Things like that weren't exactly what he was looking at when he saw her in the paper.

"Well, did this 'Yamcha' at least say what her birthday was?"

"Yeah." Eresa nodded. "November 12th, '33."

Satan nodded and, taking a pin that was in her hands, punched in 11 12 33. Waited. Nothing happened. He looked at the tiny lock again. Tried instead typing in 11 12 733. The lock beeped and popped open.

"How'd you do that!?" Eresa asked.

"You have to type in the whole year." He explained. Then smiled. "Sometimes it pays to try the common dumb-guy stuff."

Working together, Eresa and Satan managed decollar well over two-dozen slaves. Then, something inevitable happened.

The Saiyans noticed that the attack on the camp was just a distraction from the rebel's true goal of freeing the workers. When that happened, Satan, Eresa, Mai, Lunch, and all the others working to free the slaves became to focus of the aliens' rage.

Satan threw Eresa out of the way just as he noticed a beam of white-hot light streaming towards them. By sheer dumb luck, the shot did not kill Satan, but instead propelled him several feet into the air before gravity took hold of him again, pulling him back earthward and slamming his head on the ground. Good thing he was so hard-headed.

"Mr. Satan!" Eresa screamed.

"Run!" He told her. "Eresa, take everyone that we've already freed and get them out of here!"

"But what about you!?"

That was an excellent question. What about him?

Satan was no match for a Saiyan, he was already well aware of that. Once upon a time, he thought himself to be the best fighter in the world. Once upon a time, he would have believed that 'ki' was nothing more than fancy light effects and trickery. But time and events proved both to be wrong. Satan was not all that strong after all. Ki was very real and very deadly. He was no match against something like that. Running and hiding would be the smarter action. Running and hiding was something he was good at. Saving himself.

'You're nothing but a self-centered attention whore! If there's no benefit for you, you have no time for other people!'

Videl's voice once again echoed through his head.

Videl… his little baby girl. He thought she was dead. These past eight years, he thought the Saiyans had killed her. But she survived after all. Not just survived but saved other people. Her classmates. Joined up with this group. Became the rebels. Was working to free the world of these monsters. She was a hero.

'I used to watch your fights on TV. You were the best. Live well.'

He was not the best. Not even close. He was not the best father. He had not been the best husband. Hell, he wasn't even the best fighter. But he could give a good show. If nothing else, he could give a good show.

"I'll distract him!" Satan finally answered her. "Just take the others and go! Don't look back, Eresa! Run. Run now! …And- and tell Videl I would have loved to see her."

Not just now, after this. But eight years ago. For her school's event. Whatever it had been. Sports festival. Fundraiser. It didn't matter. He would have liked to see her.

Eresa nodded soberly. "I will."

That was the last she saw of Mr. Satan.

…

It was some time later. Long after the final showdown at the rendezvous point. After Videl, Kuririn, and Yamcha popped up out of the sand to cover their retreat. After they, and the fretted slaves that chose to join them, returned to the caverns of Dragon Rock. After the debriefing. After everything was said and done, that Eresa finally got the chance to talk to Videl.

She had no idea what she was going to say. Videl was her friend and Mr. Satan was her father. She barely knew the man, only meeting him a handful of times when she was over at their house for playdate and study groups. He was usually away at matches or training at his gym. But Videl… Videl lived with him, was raised by him. Eresa tried to think of her own parents. The last time she saw her mom was when the left for school the day of the invasion. Her dad she hadn't seen for several days before that, only getting to see him on the weekends. She tried to channel her feelings when she reconciled the fact that they must also be dead by now.

Finally, she began, "Vi- Videl… hey."

"Hey, Eresa." Videl blinked back. "You okay? You look a little sick."

"I… you should know… I found someone during the mission, but- he saved me, Videl. You should be proud of him. He's so proud of you! He wanted to see you. He wanted me to tell you that he would have loved to see you."

"Who?"

Eresa wrapped her arms around Videl in a preemptive hug before sobbing. "Mr. Satan. Videl, I saw your dad! He survived! He could have escaped! But… but he stayed behind instead. He saved me. If it weren't for me I wouldn't have gotten out. He wanted me to tell you that he wanted to see you!"

It took Videl some time to process what her friend just said. But when it did finally hit her, Videl began to tremble in Eresa's arms. "I was so mad at him…"

…

Later, Videl was done crying. Here eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy. But her cheeks were dry. There was a time for crying, and a time for fighting, and a time for training. Now it was time for training. She was on her way to meet up with Master Roshi to resume her practice with the Kamehameha.

As she passed through the common area, she passed Son Gohan starring at the posters of his father.

She was about to pass right by him, but something made her pause. For the first time since she heard their plan to bring him to Earth, she thought she might understand him a little bit.

Videl had never seen a hansaiya before. Only ever just heard of them and knew that they were a forbidden abomination. Because of that, she always imagined them to look a little grotesque. Something between a normal human and the giant ape-monster the Saiyans transformed into. That was what she first imagined when they talked of bringing Son Gohan here. An ape-man. Half-man, half-beast. But when he arrived he looked so normal, it was a little disorienting. He would have fit in just fine in her old school.

But she still didn't trust him. As the actual Saiyans themselves proved, having a human shape did not make a person human in spirit. Videl maintained her distance from him because she did not want to become to comfortable around him. She did not want to trust him. He was part Saiyan and she did not trust anything with Saiyan blood.

Watching him now, though, staring at the posters of his late father that Kuririn had posted, she began to wonder if they might be more alike that she first thought. From what Eresa had told her, Dad had died a hero's death. And Gohan's father… well, everyone knew about him. Call it a moment of emotional weakness, but for the first time since he arrived on the planet, she felt for him.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Gohan turned his head. "Oh. Hi. Videl… Did, uh, did you need something?"

"No." She said very quickly and turned to leave. Then paused. "Just… never mind. Sorry to bother you."

She left.


	15. The Scattering of Small Rocks

Bulma bit her thumbnail as she watched the emerald sphere of Namek drop away beneath them.

Tarble's shuttle wasn't all that different from the one she herself had used on that fateful day she left Vegeta-sei with newborn Trunks in her arms. This one was a slightly newer model, but otherwise, almost the same. She examined the cockpit controls in an effort to not think about where they were headed and the task that awaited her there. Tarble was willing to take her and her son from the village and remove the danger she and Trunks represented to her water-brothers. But he would not do it for free. The options he presented her with were return with him to Vegeta-sei and force Vegeta to see reason, or else allow him to take Trunks and start a political campaign to place him on the throne instead.

Like hell was Bulma about to hand over her baby boy. So, she chose the lesser of two dangers. She go with Tarble, walk into the palace at Salaad, bold as you please, and knock some sense into her former lover. While she was doing that, Trunks would remain on the ship. Waiting for her return. At least, if he had any sense at all he would. But he was his father's son. And he was her son. Studying the ship's schematics on the computer, Bulma wondered how she might be able to actually lock-up her son so that he couldn't leave the ship while it was parked on Vegeta-sei.

She was momentarily distracted from her blueprints and planning by an odd metallic tapping sound.

"What's that?" She asked Tarble, sitting next to her in the cockpit.

He paused for a moment to listen, then replied, "Can you go and make sure Trunks isn't doing anything that could damage my ship?"

Oh, she would go and check on him alright. But not out of any concern for Tarble's property. No, she was going to make sure her little hell-raiser wasn't doing anything that could get himself or all of them killed. Small shuttle like this, all it would take was one little hole in the hull to depressurize the whole thing and kill them all. A normal Saiyan was perfectly capable of tearing through the hull of a spaceship. A hansaiya more so. Trunks was pretty good about controlling his strength, more so than Goten, at least. But he was still only eight years old. One couldn't expect to much in the way of 'responsibility' from him.

Trunks was crouched by a medium sized storage box when Bulma walked in on him. He looked up sheepishly. Like he'd just been caught stealing from Chichi's kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Bulma asked.

"Nothin'." Which meant he was most definitely doing something she would not like and he knew it.

"I heard a tapping."

"That was me!" Trunks said quickly. "I was, uh… I was practicing that morose code you taught me."

"You mean Morse Code."

"Yeah! That!"

Bulma crossed her arms over her chest, not believing him for a moment. "Alright then, show me some Morse Code. Tap out your full name."

"Uh… okay…" He looked far less confident now. Trunks began tapping on the storage container. He got the first three letters corruptly. T - R - U. But he got the N backwards, making it an A and it was all downhill from their. By the time his finished his tapping, Trunks claimed his name to be 'Truax Vrilx' instead of 'Trunks Briefs'. Either way, Bulma had heard enough to get an idea of what was really going on.

"Alrihgt, what have you got in the box?"

"Nothin'!"

Bulma reached over him to slide the lid open. She expected to find an animal of some kind. Something he caught and wanted to keep as a pet, or more likely something he wanted to eat later. But what climbed out of the box, also looking sheepish and guilty was not an animal. Bulma screeched in horror. "Goten! Goten what are you doing here!? Does Chichi know you're here! Oh my god!"

The boys grabbed hold of each other and held on tightly as Goten announced, "I wanted to come! So Trunks came up with a plan! I didn't want Trunks to go away! Mommy said I probably won't see him again. So I wanted to come!"

"You can't separate us, Mama!" Trunks chimed in. "Goten and I are brothers!"

Bulma stared in horror. All she could think of was how much danger she was dragging the extra boy into and how worried, terrified and angry Chichi must be right now -or will be once she discovers that her baby is gone. "Tarble!" She shouted. "Tarble, turn the ship around! Take us back! Take us back right now!"

Looking annoyed and confused, Tarble poked his head out of the cockpit. "Why?" Then he blinked. "You're the other one… Goten-chan, right? What are you doing here?"

"Trying to get himself killed!" Bulma screamed. "He needs to go back! He needs to stay with Chichi! Turn the ship around! Put us back down now!"

"Can't." He replied simply.

"Yeah!" Trunks chimed in. "You can't leave him behind!"

"Oniichan already left." Goten added. "Oniichan left. Dende and Piccolo-san went with him. Now you're taking Trunks away too! I won't have anyone to play with. All my brothers are leaving me! I don't wanna be left! So Trunks sunk me on with him! We're gonna stay together!"

Bulma wasn't listing. "Land this shuttle right now, or so help me…!"

"Make all the open-ended threats you want, but I can't lend this ship." Tarble replied. "We just made the jump to hyperspace. This ship isn't stopping until we reach our destination."

"You- you…" She was beside herself with rage and worry. There were no words. Bulma had no words for him. It was all she could do to smack Tarble across the cheek, as hard as she could. Then to the boys she growled out, "You two are in so much trouble. Starting from this moment, you are grounded for the rest of your lives!"

…

"They what!?"

The King nearly dropped the document in his hands when he heard the latest news from Earth. The messenger stiffened, everyone who lived or worked in the palace was familiar with the King's temper and what happened to those who sparked his short fuse. 'Punish the messenger' was a common occurrence. Still, it was equally unforgivable for a Saiyan -any Saiyan- to show fear. So, the messenger to a deep breath to settle his nerves and repeated, "The Earthlings, sir -Your Majesty- they… they attacked one of the work camps and managed to capture it."

Lounging lazily in an armchair pushed against a side wall, Soy rested her cheek in her hand. "But how? The average human powerlevel is so far below even the weakest of Third class Saiyans. Your report must be wrong."

Vegeta was about to inform her that it was possible for a human to grow strong enough to challenge a Saiyan. He had even met a few of them during his short acquaintance with the late defector Kakarot. But he caught himself at the last moment. She wasn't worth explaining things to. He didn't even want her in his office in the first place. What was she doing here and where had that chair come from? To the messenger he said, "Your Queen asked you a question."

"I…" The messenger faltered. "I was stationed at the Look Out, that's our main base on Earth. The survivors from the attack retreated there to give there reports in person. We've been having some trouble with native rebel sects for some time, but this… this was new. They had someone with them. Someone new. He looked like a human, but he was so strong. The survivors wait they couldn't get an accurate read on his power. Their scouters broke before a solid number could be reached. But he was strong. Very strong. The only reason they survived was because he let them. He was merciful."

"Then he is weak." Soy assessed. "Or an idiot. Only a full would leave an enemy live at his back. Do these survivors have a hope of defeating him and reclaiming their honor?"

The messenger paused. "N-no, my Queen. The new warrior is two strong."

"Then execute the survivors. We have no room in this monarchy for cowards that will retreat rather than earning their due and honorable deaths."

Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn't that he disagreed with Soy's command, truth be told he had no real opinion on how individual garrisons dealt with their troops. He just did not like her giving orders in his office. He was King. She was just his wife, not even his mate. "Belay that. Have you gleaned all the pertinent information you can from the work camp survivors?"

"I don't know, Your Majesty." Admitted the messenger.

"Then what good are you?" Soy demanded.

The King held up a hand for silence. Addressing the messenger he asked, "And why not?"

"I was sent to bring the news to you immediately. My commander didn't want to send the news over scouters or other com signals in case the transmission might be intercepted. We don't want the monarchy to appear weak. The men were not fully debriefed by the time I left."

"I want them fully debriefed and I want the report on my desk immediately." Vegeta commanded. True, Earthlings as a general rule were weak. But Earth still managed to produce extraordinary individuals. Strong fighters and… and brilliant scientists. He wanted to know everything he could about this new enemy. Was he truly one of Earth's greatest fighters or was he perhaps altered by science. He could imagine his woman achieving something like that. Some strange divide that could give a normal human the power they would need to challenge a Saiyan. Then, an insane thought struck him. Thinking of his woman got him wondering… could she have gone back to her home planet? Was she really so stupid? Could this strong warrior be his own hansaiya offspring? "Did the survivors give a physical description of the warrior? His age?"

"N-no, Your Majesty." Admitted the messenger. "Just that he was very strong."

"Never mind. I will go to Earth myself." The King announced. Vegeta stood, forgetting the paperwork he was in the middle of, and walked out from behind his desk. "Tell Port Control to have my ship ready in one hour. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" The messenger left -and could not get out of the office fast enough.

Soy had the grace to wait until after the messenger had left before asking, "Going to Earth over such a small matter, isn't that a little beneath you?"

Vegeta chafed a little at the implication of incompetence her question conveyed, but chose to be the better man and not take the bate. He did not want to give her the pleasure of another fight. "Perhaps. If this new strong-man from Earth turns out to be nothing and our own troops were just weak fools. Then, yes, this trip would have been beneath me. But if he instead turns out to be a real threat to the Empire, then I will be praised for my foresight and thought of as not only strong but wise."

"Hm." She shrugged. "You should send someone else as your emissary. A King should not jump at rumors."

Vegeta thought for a moment, he couldn't send anyone else. Of the members of the court, the only ones of sufficient rank to speak for the King were Raisu, Zorn, and Nappa. But his main reason for wanting to go was to learn whether or not this mysterious fighter was actually his long lost son. Raisu and Zorn had no idea that the Bastard of Vegeta lived. All they knew was that he had a scandal with a slave some yeas back. They did not know about the boy that he helped escape with his human mother. They would not know what to look for, even if they managed to recognize the blood of House Vegeta, they would probably just kill him for being a hansaiya. Vegeta could not risk that.

Nappa would be able to recognize his son. Nappa was there on the day the boy was born. Nappa helped the woman escape with him. Nappa probably wouldn't kill the brat on sight like the others would. No. Vegeta had bought the bastard's safety with his own service to the monarchy. So long as Vegeta remained and was a good King -well, a relatively good King- then Nappa would not harm his bastard or the woman that bore him. But that did not mean he wouldn't betray Vegeta's trust in other ways. Nappa might find them on Earth, but instead of reporting back to Vegeta that it was them and they were alive, he might tell the woman to take the boy again and leave, find another planet to hide on. Then return to the capitol and tell Vegeta that the warrior from Earth was a nobody, not worth his concern. Nappa was the only one he could trust with this mission, but he still couldn't trust him enough.

The King shook his head. "I will go myself." Then, because he learned over the years that it was better to compromise with the bitch than continue to argue with her, he added, "But since you are so concerned for the demands on my time, I will take someone of your choosing with me."

Soy paused a moment, then smiled. "Who will run the government while you are away?"

Ah, suddenly the idea of his leaving sounded appealing to her. Vegeta was wondering when that thought would occur to her and everything would click. He wouldn't leave everything to her, of course. He did not trust her with his crown or his monarchy. Thought he loathed them both, he did not like the idea of handing the power they offered over to her freely. "Responsibility will be divided up between yourself, and Nappa."

That made her mad. Soy stood. "You can do that! I am Queen! I should rule in your stead, without interference, without having to share power!"

And that was exactly why he wasn't handing everything over to her. "I am King, you will do as I say, Soy, without question or insubordination! You will handle the domestic affairs of state, Nappa will command my military. This is my decision."

…

The King had only given the window of an hour to make her decision of whom to send with him. But Soy didn't need the time to think, she already knew who she would choose as her emissary. What made the one hour window such a time-crunch was explaining things to him.

Soy pulled Raisu to the side, concealing them behind a wall. Outside both the King's pod and that of his companion were going through their final checks by the doc's technicians.

"Listen." She hissed at him, voice badly above a whisper. "If this Earthling warrior turns out to be a true challenge, you must be the one to defeat him, not Vegeta. If you are able to beat an enemy the King could not, it will give us the leverage we need to unseat him and claim the throne for ourselves."

Raisu nodded. "And if this guy is just a little nothing after all?"

"Then we call the King out on his incompetence and unseat him anyway." Soy shrugged. "One way or another, Vegeta is giving us the opportunity to weaken his position. You handle thingson your end and I'll take care of everything here, by years end we'll have the throne to ourselves."

Raisu smiled. "And then you'll be my Queen."

He bent his head down, his teeth barely scraping the side of her neck, but Soy pushed him off.

"Not yet." She hissed. "Not until Vegeta is out of our way. So long as I am tied to him, no other man may claim me. Now go. Before he becomes suspicious."

…

Two one-man drop pods streaked through space heading out from Vegeta-sei just as Tarble brought the shuttle out of hyperspace. He gave them a cursory glance as they shot past the main view port, two worriers off on another purging mission. Maybe if Bulma-neesan succeeded in talking sense into Niisan, the purges would stop too. Maybe they'd stop conquering and pillaging and instead try to live in harmony with their galactic neighbors -like he did on Gyu.

Gyu had a relatively small population, at least, when compared to other planets. But to spite the low population, it was very diverse in terms of philosophy and belief. His wife's people were called the 'People of the Book' because they adhered to the teachings of the Twelve Patriacrchs as recorded in the book of the Word. But they were not the only people who lived on Gyu. There were also the nomads whom made annual pilgrimages to their sacred city in the desert, followers of the prophet Mu. Then there was the relatively new cult of Yeshua. Tarble still wasn't sure what they were all about, but they weren't important. The point was that were were all these different peoples with different ideas and yet they managed to live in harmony. Why couldn't the monarchy be like that?

The monarchy couldn't be like that because his father hadn't let it be like that. But the late King Vegeta was gone. Niisan was King now. Once he talked to Bulma… Once he saw reason, then things would change.

Laying in their course for Salaad's main space port, Tarble opened a com channel to the planet and tried to put as much imperious and entitlement into his voice as he could she he said, "This is Archduke Tarble, brother to the King. Have a landing bay ready and awaiting my arrival."

He caught himself before the words 'please' or 'thank you' could escape his lips. As his father tried to drill into him, Saiyan nobility and Saiyan Elites did not make polite requests or say please. Saiyan Elites remanded. Neither did they say 'thank you'. There was no reason to show thanks for things that should be their due to begin with. That was the first habit he was broken of after being exiled to Gyu. Making demands and not expressing gratitude. Living with the river tribes along the banks of the Kannon Tarble learned the true value of common courtesies like 'please' and 'thank you', words that did not exist within the Saiyago language naturally.

But there would be time to think on that later. Now there was work to be done. The course that would take them to Salaad was set so Tarble keyed the auto-pilot and went to check on his sister-in-law and nephew -and their little stowaway.

Bulma was once again going over the rules of this visit with the boys. Reminding them for what Tarble counted to be the sixth time, that they were not allowed to leave the ship. That they were not allowed to let anyone else on the ship. That they were not allowed to talk to anyone else -not even if someone else tried to talk to them. That no one should be trying to talk to them in the first place since they were staying on the ship! If they saw someone looking at the ship, to hide. If someone managed to get on the ship, hide. Do not fight. Do not draw attention. She made eye-contact with each boy as she repeated these orders and made each one promise.

Once each boy had sullenly sworn not to give her cause to worry, Tarble cleared his throat for attention. "We're almost there. Neesan, you might want to get ready while I land the ship. You little ones do as she says and stay out of the way."

Landing didn't take all that much time.

Bulma-neesan had changed into cloths more befitting of a slave and covered her eye-catching blue hair under a low-brimmed worker's hat. Tarble, for his part, dressed in the same jumpsuit and armor he'd worn to his father's funeral only without the crimson cloak or mourning. His father was dead and the three day mourning period was over, Tarble wouldn't need to wear that cloak again any time soon. Hopefully never again at all.

"Are you ready?" He asked her.

Bulma nodded. "Lets get this over with."

…

Mama and Uncle Tarble were gone less than an hour before Trunks and Goten quickly realized that waiting on the ship was boring. Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring. Capitol B Boring!

Neither of them had ever been off Namek before. This was their first time on an alien planet. This was so exciting! Or, at least, it might have been exciting if they were allowed to leave the ship. Mama made him promise he wouldn't. Said it was dangerous for him and Goten and that she would worry for him if they did leave. He didn't want to make her worry -mostly because she tended to express her worry by scolding him. But this was the first real adventure he and Goten had ever been on. What kind of an adventure would it be if they never even lest the ship? Besides, they were strong enough to take care of themselves.

"Hey, Chibi, lets go exploring." Trunks suggested.

"But your Mama said not to leave. It seemed really important, she said it like ten time!" His friend replied, waving his arms for emphasis.

That was true. Trunks had never heard his mother insist on something so strongly. She did explain to him that this was the home world of the Saiyan race. The evil monarchy that killed Gohan-oniisan's and Goten's dad and wanted to kill them too, for no other reason than they were half-human. That did make this a very dangerous place for them. But still… Trunks was confident they could take care of themselves. After all, of course the Saiyans would seem big and scary to Mama and Chichi-san. They were normal -weak- humans. But he and Goten were strong. They didn't have anything to worry about.

"I know what she said. But she's just worried that we might get hurt." Trunks explained. "But if we go and look around, then are back before she and Uncle Tarble get back she won't even know, so she can't get mad at us!"

"Oh." Goten smiled at the flawless and perfect logic of this. "Okay then!"

They nick out through an emergency airlock as it was smaller than the main hatch and less likely to be seen by anyone patrolling the port. Once out they found a quick hiding place from which to examine their surroundings and decide where they wanted to go first.

Off in the distance, the buildings grew taller and denser. Tall towers and narrow streets stretching up claw-like towards the sky. That must be the capitol city Uncle Tarble had mentioned. What did he call it? Salad? That was a silly name. In the middle of the city was a bunch of towers all taller then the others. They were so tall in fact that they blocked out part of the lower sun in the sky. That must be the palace. That was where Mama and Uncle Tarble had gone. Trunks didn't want to go that way for fear of accidentally running into them and getting himself and Goten in trouble. So he looked around for someone else interesting to explore.

On the doc's other side was another town-looking place. The buildings were just as close together, but they were smaller, shabbier, and looked like they were made from whatever could be found that might keep out rain or wind. Just looking at it, it seemed far less appealing than Salad City, but unlike Salad City there was danger of running into Mama and getting in trouble. So that was where Trunks decided they would go.

"That way." He pointed. "Lets go."

"But, Trunks, I wanna go to the fancy place." Goten whined.

"But that's where Mama went." Huffed the older boy. "What if she saw us there? We'd get in so much trouble. But over there we can still explore and not have to worry about being caught by my Mama."

"Oh." The younger boy looked crestfallen. "Okay."

"C'mon."

They did not fly. Trunks knew enough to know that flying ran the risk of someone sensing their energy, detecting them on a scouter, or just plain looking up in the sky and seeing them. So they ran, and when there was no danger of being seen hopped, until they reached the edge of the small shabby village.

Up close it looked even poorer and sadder. The buildings that from afar looked like they were made from anything that might keep out wind or rain, up close didn't even look like they could do that much. The walls were basically just frames made from scrap metal or discarded wood and hung with blankets or tarps. The roofs were just sheets of the same scrap wood or metal large enough to cover the building. Looking at it, Trunks was afraid to touch the thing for fear that it might come crashing down. Did people actually live here? Why? Why would they live here when there was a great big city just a hop, skip, and a jump away?

"What a dump." Goten commented.

"Yeah." Trunks agreed. Then added, "I wonder where everyone is."

"I donno." Goten admitted. "Maybe they all left because this town sucks."

The elder hansaiya gave a shrug of indifference. But still, they were already here and didn't have all that much time. Who knew when Mama and Uncle Tarble would be back? "Let's have a look around anyway. Since we're already here."

"Okay…" Goten agreed only because he couldn't think of a better alternative. It was either explore this slum, explore the big city and risk bumping into Bulma-san, or go back to the ship and be board.

They wondered between the shabby buildings, poking their head through a window every now and again, but finding no one. In one house Goten did find an old woman, laying on a straw mattress, knitting something out of course yarn. She looked up startled when Goten poked his head through the window.

"Oh! Hi." He offered a friendly smile. "Trunks and I didn't think anyone else was here. Where are all the other people."

"They're working." She replied, after gathering her wits about her. "What are you doing here, puppy?"

"Not supposed to tell." He replied. "Not supposed to be here."

The old woman looked like she was about to say more, but Goten's attention was drawn away before she could get another word out.

Trunks shouted to him from the next row over. "Goten, c'mere. I found something."

The something he found was a man. Human like their moms, but a bit older. He was busy filling a large rectangular hole in the ground with a wooden plank stuck in the dirt on one end. There were other similar wood planks stuck in the ground all around them. The two boys approached him slowly, not sure if he would be friendly or not. Bulma warned them that this was not a safe planet for hansaiya. But then, without their tails they looked like normal human children.

"What are you doing?" Asked Goten innocently. "Planting a garden? My mom puts sticks in the ground when she plants things so that she knows what will grow. What are you planting, mister?"

The man paused in his shoveling to regard Goten for a moment. For a split second he looked almost angry at them. But after seeing Goten's honest wide eyes, his expression softened into one of controlled but heavy sorrow. "I'm not planting a garden, puppy. I'm burying my son."

"Oh. Why?"

At his side, Trunks' face fell into the palm of his hand.

"Because he passed away." The man explained gently. Then turned very bitter and elaborated. "He was killed."

Suddenly Goten understood, but then became a new flavor of confused. "Then why are you putting him in the dirt instead of in the water? Where me and Trunks are from, when someone from the village dies we wrap them in cloth and put them in the water. Then we have a big, big party and talk about how much fun they had when they were alive."

Now it was the man's turn to look confused. "We don't have time for parties 'round here. Where are you puppies from?"

"C'mon, Goten, lets go." Trunks grabbed the sleeve of his friend's dogi and pulled him away. Goten was sociable and trusting. He didn't want to risk him letting slip that they were from Namek, or worse, that they were hansaiya.

…

The palace at Salaad looked exactly as Bulma remembered it, almost as if nothing had changed.

She walked slowly. Half a step behind Tarble. Head down, shoulders slumped, hat low over her bright aqua hair. She was the picture of a perfect submissive slave. He lead her through the hallways and corridors of the palace, his head held high, a contemptuous smirk on his face and an air of superiority wafting around him. He was the perfect picture of a Saiyan Prince -or 'Archduke' as he was now called. But beneath it Bulma could sense his insecurity and unease. He didn't like being back on Vegeta-sei anymore than she did.

Tarble was much easier to read than his brother had ever been. It didn't take Bulma long to figure out that all his talk of changing things and building a better world for everyone was just a facade. He didn't want to create a better world so much as tear-down the current world. He was not as altruistic as he tried to sound.

The throne room was also exactly how Bulma remembered it, even though she'd been inside it far fewer times than other parts of the palace. A large wide room with high ceiling. A single long carpet leading from the double doors, through the room, and up the stairs to the dais. On the dais was a large chair carved from one solid piece of smoky quartz -the Cairngrom Throne. But it wasn't Vegeta whom was sitting on the throne.

Tarble stopped short when he noticed that it wasn't his brother lounging in the uncomfortable looking chair. "Soy? Where is Niisan?"

Bulma studied the woman as she lowered lean but muscular and very shapely legs from the arm of the chair to sit properly. Laying both equally lean but muscular arms over the arm rests, she gazed down at Tarble in mild irritation.

"That's 'Queen Soy', Archduke." She said.

Behind him Bulma might have gasped. Queen? As in Queen-Queen? As in the wife of the King? Vegeta's wife? For some reason that thought stung. Some place deep in her chest. Bulma felt the bitter sting of betrayal. She didn't know why. That chapter of her life was over, she and Vegeta had gone their separate ways. They hadn't seen each other in eight years. It was absurd for her to believe he would date other women in that time. That he wouldn't get married in that time. She had no right to be jealous. Besides, as King he would be expected to take a Saiyan woman for a wife. Really, she shouldn't be surprised and she shouldn't be jealous.

But she was.

"Very well, my Queen," Tarble replied, trying to keep the contempt out of his voice. "Where is the King -my brother- for I much desire to speak with him."

"He's not here." The Queen -Soy- informed him. "He's gone on a kingly errand off planet. I rule in his stead until he returns. Was there something you wanted to discuss with me?"

"No. It was a conversation between brothers and has nothing to do with you." Off planet, eh. Tarble thought of the two space pods that were on their way out just as his was coming in. Damn. They must have literally just missed each other. Their ship's ion trails probably crossed. Now he was left with a decision. Stay on Vegeta-sei and wait for Niisan to return, or take Bulma-neesan and the little ones back to his home on Gyu. Tarble hated to leave without his task being completed. But at the same time, Vegeta-sei was a dangerous place for humans and even more so for hansaiya. He might be able to stay and wait it out if it was just himself and Bulma, but he could not in good conscience risk the safety of the little ones. He would have to take them to Gyu. "When Niisan returns, please tell him that I came to call. Come along, slave."

Bulma managed to wait until the throne room doors were firmly closed behind them before she asked, "Tarble, who was that woman? Was that Vegeta's wife? You didn't tell me Vegeta had a wife. What makes you think he would listen to anything I have to say? He probably doesn't remember me anymore!"

"He does." Tarble assured her. "Trust me, Neesan, you are ever-present in Niisan's thoughts."

She didn't believe him, but thought it best not to argue. Not here at least. The monarchal seat on Vegeta-sei was not the place to have an argument about the King's romantic life. "Lets just gt back to the ship. I don't like leaving Trunks and Goten unsupervised for to long. They're a bit prone to trouble…"

"Alright." He agreed.

Tarble really had no idea how right she was. The little ones were quite prone to trouble. But he didn't find that out until they got back to the ship and the boys weren't there.

"Oh no! Those two…" Bulma growled. She was going to kill them when they got back -if they got back.

"Don't worry." Tarble assured her. "I'll find them."

…

Trunks was getting board again. He lead Goten on a winding course back towards the city. It had been a while since they left the ship anyway and Mama would be getting back soon. He wanted to make sure they were there before she returned. Besides, to spite how dangerous Mama and Chichi-san always said it would be for him and Goten, Vegeta-sei was not all that exciting. From what they got see, it was all shabby buildings and sad people. Namek was much better.

They stopped short when another person crossed their path.

Goten nearly walked right into Trunks when the older hansaiya froze in his tracks. Not pausing to scold his friend for the slight, Trunks grabbed the younger boy and pulled him behind I big pile of wood and twigs just in time to avoid being seen.

A woman walked right up to the wood-pile they were hiding behind. But she wasn't like the other people they'd seen thus far. She didn't wear well-worn and patched cloth, or walk with a permanent slouch to her shoulders, or bow of her head. Instead she wore armor over a form-fitting body-suit and over her head was a sheer veil of deep crimson. She held her head high, her back strait to spite the fact that her face looked like she was about to cry. In her arms was what looked like a bundled up blanket. This she layer on top of the pile of wood and twigs.

Trunks placed a hand over Goten's mouth before he could ask to obvious question of 'what is she doing?'. It was obvious enough to the older boy that this woman was not a human or a slave of another species like the other people they met so far, but a Saiyan. A real live Saiyan. Not nice like Uncle Tarble was, but a mean and evil Saiyan warrior. If Mama said it wasn't safe to share water with Uncle Tarble, then it definitely wasn't safe to let this woman know that they were there.

She said a few words in a language Trunks didn't know. Probably the language of the Saiyans before taking a step back from the wood-pile. Then her ki flared for a moment and she released a small low-energy wave that set the wood ablaze.

"Yeeeeaaaaaaow!" Goten wailed when the singed him slightly. He jumped out from behind the pyre and did a quick stop-drop-and-roll in the dirt.

Trunks likewise jumped away from the fire and gave himself a thorough pat-down to make sure he wasn't on fire before turning to his friend and saying, "Great job, stupid, you gave away our hiding place!"

"But, Trunks, our hiding place was on fire!" The younger boy whined back.

Whatever Trunks was going to say in reply was cut off by the woman suddenly demanding, "What are you brats doing here? Where are your pathetic parents and why are they not keeping a tighter leash on their spawns?"

Goten blinked up at her innocently. "Are you mad at us, Lady? Did we do something bad? We're sorry. But you almost set Trunks and me on fire. What are you doing anyway? Setting things on fire with your ki? That's dangerous ya know!"

"Insolent brat!" She snapped. "You should know a Final Dispatch when you see one. How dare you mock this sacred ceremony!"

She raised her hand to smack Goten across the face. Had he been a normal human child the blow probably would have snapped his neck and killed him. As it was, his Saiyan instincts recognized an attack when he saw one, and his training from Gohan and Piccolo gave him the speed and aptitude to block the hit before it could connect. The woman froze. Staring in stunned awe at the mere child that had just blocked her hit.

Goten's eyebrows came down. His wide friendly eyes turning narrow and serious the same way Gohan's did during a good fight. "That wasn't very nice." He said. "I apologized. Mama and Bulma-san always say that you should forgive someone when they apologize."

The woman just stared.

Then, after a prolonged pause she stuttered, "How- How did you…? No Human child could block my attack. No human could block my attack! What- war are you?"

"None of your business!" Trunks was quick to cut in before Goten had the chance to reply. Knowing him, he probably would tell a Saiyan warrior that they were hansaiya for no other reason than it was the honest truth and Goten almost always told the truth -mostly because lies were too difficult to remember.

Now the woman rounded on him. "How dare you take that tone with me! You're noting but the unfortunate offspring of slaves. I am a Saiyan warrior."

"T'ch. You sound like a snitty bitch." Trunks crossed his arms over his chest and glared challengingly at her.

"Why you disrespectful, impudent, little wretch!"She gathered a ball of ki in her hand. "I'll teach you some respect!"

"You will do no such thing!"

All three of them turned to the voice of the newcomer. Trunks stomach did an anxious little flip-flop when he recognized the speaker as Tarble. So, he and Mama must have gotten back to the ship already and found them gone. Damn. They were in trouble. They were in so much trouble now.

The woman looked him up and down as he defended from the air to place himself between her and the boys. "You dress like an Elite."

"I am Archduke Tarble, brother to the King. These children are under my protection." He paused, glancing from her to the still burning funeral pyre behind her. His expression softened. "I apologize for any offense they might have made. They are from off world and have never seen a Final Dispatch before. I assure you, they will be appropriately dealt with -by one far more fighting than I."

Behind him, Trunks gulped audibly. He knew exactly who Uncle Tarble was talking about. Mama would not be happy when they got back to the ship. Not happy at all. He was not looking forward to their punishment.

Tarble continued, "The body looks uncommonly small. A child? Why are you not holding the Dispatch within the Temple of Fire?"

She looked away, shamefaced, and snarled bitterly, "They would not let such an… abomination within the temple."

"A hansaiya." He concluded.

She did not reply. But the woman's silence was confirmation enough for Tarble.

"I imagine your alien lover has been similarly dealt with?"

Her head snapped up -defensive. "I am a Third Class soldier, my lord, but I come from an honorable House. I kept my House's honor and killed the father myself. The slaves buried him today, as is there way. But…"

"But your child -bastard thought it was- also deserved an honorable funeral." Tarble finished for her. "Don't worry. I hold no judgment against you. Who knows… a hansaiya might very well sit upon the Cairngrom Throne one day."

She looked up, startled by his words. Such a radical -almost blasphemous- idea. Then her eyes traveled from Tarble to the two boys that stood watching from behind him. For the first time she paused to actually take in Goten's dark eyes and birds nest of spiky black hair. But her gaze lingered longer on Trunks. Perhaps the odd coloring thew her off. But after a prolonged pause she finally said, "That one bears a slight resemblance to yourself, m'lord."

"You think so?" Tarble replied cryptically. "He does have a look of House Vegeta to him, doesn't he? But we must be going. Boys."

With that, Tarble took their hands and all three of them flew away. Leaving the woman to blink in disbelief.

…

Lightyears away, two space-pods streaked through space on their way to a small blue marble called 'Earth'.


	16. The Timing

Two one-man drop pods plummeted downwards on a collision course with the Earth. Passing through the Thermosphere, Mesosphere, Stratosphere, and so on. When they reached the Troposphere, one of them decelerated. Slowed down and changed its trajectory. Heading, not strait down, but rather parallel to the ground on a course that would intersect with the Look Out -the Saiyan's main base of operations on Earth.

The pod landed with an ungentle THUD in the tiled courtyard, cracking a few of the flagstones and making Mr. Popo gape in horror at the damage. It was bad enough that they tore up his gardens and broke what was left of the planter boxes during training, but now they crack his courtyard tiles too. If only Kami were still here. Or Goku.

The ship's single hatch popped and with a metallic hiss, slowly began to open.

Out climbed yet another Saiyan. Dressed in white armor polished to a shine over a royal blue combat suit, and a crimson and blue cape cascading down from the over-sized shoulders of his breastplate. All the Saiyans present fell to one knee, kneeling before the new arrival. One fist to the ground, the other fist over their hearts. This Saiyan must be someone of great importance or reverence to them, Popo decided. So, in the interest of his own self-preservation, he too bowed before the newcomer.

The newcomer looked off into the distance. Following the slight trail of engine wake of his companion's pod that, in the atmosphere, looked like a tail of clouds. It was angled strait down, ending in a large brown crater on the landscape.

"Raisu, you idiot." He muttered. "Where'd you learn to pilot?"

"You're Majesty," another Saiyan came forward. "We have detained the men from the Orange Star Work Camp as requested."

"Excellent." Nodded His Majesty. "I will speak with them at once."

Far off in the distance, on the world below the Look Out, the second pod opened and its pilot climbed out.

Raisu double checked to make sure his scouter was secure over his ear and eye before setting it to scan for all powerful life-forms. Let the King interview the weaklings who lost the camp. Raisu was going to find this mysterious warrior and he was going to be the one to defeat him.

…

Kuririn and Marron were outside, spending some much needed father-daughter time together in the fresh air and sunlight when they two space pods fell from they sky. Far away and in the distance. They only saw them by the cloud trails they created.

"Papa, look!" Little Marron pointed up at they sky. "Shooting stars in the day!"

Kuririn on the other hand was not as enthused to see them. "Those aren't shooting stars, sweetie, shooting stars don't come out during the day." He was loath to inform her. "Those are spaceships. That's how the bad guys arrived back before your Mama and I met."

"Oh…" She looked down at her red strappy-sandles. "Does that mean more bad guys are coming? Are you and Mama gonna go away more and more?"

"I hope not, sweetie." He answered in all honesty. "I'll have to ask Baba. She'll know. But for right now, how about you and I go back inside where its safe."

The little girl grumbled in disappointment, the did not like being inside all the time. She was young, only four, but she dud understand that Mama and Papa kept her cooped up inside the based most of the time to keep her safe. There were lots of bad people in the world and Mama and Papa were working very hard to make the bad people go away so that she could go outside more. But she was also only four years old and that made her impatient. She didn't want to wait to go outside tomorrow, or whenever it would be safe. She wanted to go outside now. But Papa would lecture and Mama would give her that Look if she got to fussy. So, while Marron grumbled and complained about having to go back inside, she did not protest.

Marron was handed off to Chiaotzu, whom had volunteered to watch the children rescued when Gohan took down the work camp. At least until their parents decided what they wanted to do with their newfound freedom -or parents could be found for them.

His daughter under trusted supervision, Kuririn went in search of Baba.

He found the old woman, not in the main conference room, but rather in her own chamber. She was leaning over her crystal ball, which was almost as tall as she was, while Korin, Lunch and Roshi looked on patiently. Only Lunch looked up when he entered.

"Oh, hi, Kuririn." She smiled at him, hooking a strand of brunette hair back behind her ear. "I thought you were spending the day with little Marron-chan."

"Two Saiyan pods." He said by way of explanation. "They came down just now, in the direction of the Look Out."

"Yes, yes." Baba confirmed in irritation. "We were just about to look into them. Since you're here, sit down and be quiet."

Kuririn did as he was told, taking a seat by his former master, Roshi. The four of them waited patiently as the old witch turned her gaze back to the crystal ball. There was a beat of silence. Then the All Seeing Witch frowned.

"What? What is it?" Kuririn asked.

"Baba?" Roshi ventured. His sister didn't usually make such an expression whilst peaking into the future.

"The Saiyan King." Korin supplied, plucking the explanation for her wary confusion directly out of the witch's head.

"Yes." She confirmed, nodding once. "The new arrivals are none other than the Saiyan King himself and another Elite."

"Then this is perfect!" Kuririn launched to his feet in excitement. "If Gohan can defeat the King, then not only will we free the Earth, but also take down the whole damn monarchy! We'd destroy their tyrannical empire and free dozens of other planets all over the galaxy! This is great! We should set up a mission right now!"

"Can Gohan-chan really beat the Saiyan King?" Lunch asked. "I always heard that the King was supposed to be the strongest member of their race. I know Gohan is extra-strong because he's a hansaiya, but is he strong enough to defeat the King?"

"Sure he is!" Kuririn insisted. "Are you forgetting who's son he is? Goku could defeat anyone! I bet you anything, Gohan could do the same!"

"Are you willing to bet your daughter's life on that?" Korin asked. "Because if Gohan doesn't beat him, or if Gohan does beat him but still leaves him alive -as he's let every other Saiyan he's gone up against so far live- then the King might just destroy the planet and everyone on it in anger. Don't be so quick to rush things, Kuririn. We must consider all ends first. Gohan may not be ready to fight the boss just yet."

"You're right." A new and unfamiliar voice interjected. "Gohan is not ready."

A tapestry on the back-wall of the chamber shifted and out from behind it walked a man. At first everyone's stomach did a little flip-flop at seeing that birds nest of spiky black hair and that handsome, angular face. It was Goku's face. But then they noticed that the eyes were just a little to hard, the forehead, corners of the eyes and mouth were creased with lines from tension and anger, and he had a cross shaped scar over one cheek. This man was not Son Goku. Besides, Goku never wore Saiyan armor. And he certainly didn't have a tail anymore! This man was not Son Goku, but he was a Saiyan!

Kuririn, Roshi, and Lunch jumped to their feet. Korin remained where he was, calm, collected, and unbothered.

"Saiyan…" Lunch muttered, one hand drifting into her pocket. She withdrew a small white feather and tickled it under her nose. There was a moment's pause before, "Ah… ah… chooo! Dust this bitch!"

The now blond Launch pulled a rapid-fire machine gun from out of no where and began unloading the magazine on the intruder.

The intruder, for his part, just stood there in his green and black armor looking board. He fixed Launch with a look as if to say, 'Really? You must be new here.' Even though he knew she had been with Kakarot's group almost from the beginning. When the gun finally ran out of bullets, the room smelled of gunpowder and lead. Kuririn and Roshi had pressed themselves against the back wall in an effort to get out of the Gun's range, Korin was still sitting, cool as the cat he was, and Baba was pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off a stress headache.

"Calm down! Calm down!" Insisted the old witch. "He's on our side. This is the other Seer I told you about, the one who was hiding Gohan. Bardock, what are you doing here?"

Bardock dusted off a few bullets that were stuck on his armor. "I'm here to stop you from doing what your idiot companions here are keen on doing." He fixed Kuririn with a pointed stare. "Gohan will not fight the Saiyan King now. The timing is wrong. He will louse."

"You don't know that!" Kuririn was quick to insist.

"Yes. I do." A flat, even reply.

Kuririn paused. Right. This man might be a Saiyan, but he was also a Seer. Baba had already told them that. He probably did know what would happen if Gohan fought Vegeta right now. Kuririn was sure Gohan could win in a fight against the King, but Bardock knew if he would. "Then what should we do?" He muttered. "Just let this opportunity pass us by? Do nothing? Do nothing while your race strips our planet and enslaves our people? Do nothing while we cower in fear, terrified for the safety of our children? Is that what you're saying we should do!?"

"Yes." Replied Bardock, uncaring. "You desire the freedom of your planet, I desire the destruction of the House Vegeta. The two goals are one in the same. Earth will never be free until the royal line is broken and the throne is crushed. If Gohan were to fight Vegeta now he would louse and we would louse him. There is no other Weapon ready to use against the monarchy. The next Weapon would take another ten years to temper and hone."

There was a beat of silence while everyone reflected on that prediction. If Gohan fought the Saiyan King now, he would louse and they would also louse their hero and savior. There was no other champion that could stand up against Saiyan oppression. No other champion that was ready. By now, everyone knew about Gohan's younger brother Goten, the second son of Goku. But it would be another ten years before he would be ready to take on the monarchy. The same went for Bulma's son, Trunks. Both boys were hansaiya. Both boys had the potential to become strong enough to take on the Saiyans. But neither would be ready to for at least a decade. That was to long to wait. Gohan was their only champion. They couldn't risk him unless they were sure he would win.

"Kuririn does bring up a good question." Roshi began after the silence had dragged on long enough. "What should we do? While the Saiyan King is on our planet, but Gohan cannot face him, what should we be doing?"

"Nothing." Bardock replied. "You will do nothing. While Vegeta is on this world he will be looking for someone, one specific person. But the one he's looking for isn't here. When he realizes that, he will leave. Until then, you will do noting. Do not draw attention to yourselves. After Vegeta leaves, continue as you have been. Free more work camps, retake the cities and the shipyards, work your way towards the mind-reading cat's tower and the Look Out. But while Vegeta is here, you stay put." He turned to leave, then paused and looked back at them. "Be seeing you."

Then he was gone in an Instant. Vanished into thin air.

"T'ch, 'be seeing you'." Kuririn repeated. "'Cause he's a Seer. I see what he did there."

…

Dende held his hand over Videl's arms, channeling his mystic energies to mend the light ki-burns that reddened her skin. Training in ki-techniques was important work, but training was not without injury. Dende learned that early on, mending all of Piccolo, Gohan, and the boy's training injuries.

"There." He turned her hands over in his, examining his work, making sure there were no more burns or abrasions left.

"Thank you." Videl nodded.

He gave an awkward nod back, still not sure on the appropriate way to respond. He was still getting used to Earthling educate and social protocols. Piccolo said that the thing he was supposed to say after someone thanked him was 'you're welcome'. But he observed very few of the natives practicing this custom. So, he wasn't sure if -as a foreigner- he should follow it or not. He did not want be to accidentally rude to his hosts.

The Namekian sorcerer was about to leave when Videl stopped him. "Hey, uh, Dende?"

"Yes?" He turned back around to face her, because it was definitely the appropriate thing to face someone when they were speaking to you.

"Son Gohan…" She began. "You grew up with him on Namek, right?"

Dende chafed a little bit at the mention of his water-brother. His decision to come to Earth and help these people was born from his shame after Gohan's rejection and his desire to place some distance between himself and the hansaiya. But Gohan, infuriatingly, chose to follow him here. In order to protect him from the Saiyans. Since arriving on Earth, Dende did not find himself in any danger from a Saiyan, but he did find himself surrounded by people who would not shut up about how great Gohan was and only succeeded in rubbing salt in his wounded feelings and wounded pride.

But he liked Videl. Of all the Earthlings, she was one person who did not gush and faun over his water-brother. In fact, aside from a sort of polite-distrust, she seemed to not give him a second glance at all. At least, that was until just now.

"Yes. We grew up together." Dende confirmed. "He is my brother through water."

"Oh." He could see she did not know what that meant, but unless she asked he was in no mood to explain it to her. "So, you've known him most of your life then? I just… Everyone is so sure he's gonna be this great hero that's gonna save us -like his dad was. But the thing is, I never knew his dad like everyone else did and so I don't see a hero when I look at him. I just see a tall but scrawny kid my age. And he's half-Saiyan. And the Saiyans are evil so… I guess you could say I'm suspicious of him. But…"

Here she paused for a moment. Taking a deep breath to collect herself.

"Sorry for rambling. I just recently got some distressing personal news. It's making me a little… erratically hysterical." She explained. "What I wanted to ask was, is he really the hero everyone wants him to be? Is he really gonna be like his dad? Did he come here to save us?"

No. The answer that rose immediately to his mind, while technically factual, was the wrong answer to give. No, Gohan did not come here to be your hero. He did not come here to be your savior. He came here because Saiyans don't like letting go of what is theirs and I am his brother. He came here because of me. Not for you. That was the correct answer, but it was not the right answer. It was not the sort of thing you told a person who lived in constant fear the way the people of Earth did. It was not something you told a person about their one, single, thread of hope for salvation.

But, at the same time. He liked Videl and respected her to much to give her a pretty lie. Dende had not yet shared water with any of the Earthlings, but if they lived long enough to, he would like to share water with Videl. The first of the Seven Virtues was shokh, Truth. Because only the truth should be spoken between water-brothers. But Videl was not a water-brother yet, and he'd already violated shokh every time he told Gohan he was fine and didn't still harbor any hard feelings over the rejection.

In the end, he decided on a compromise. A half-truth. "Gohan is a son of two worlds. He is a son of Namek, like me. But he's also a son of Earth. When the others came to our village and told us of your plight, he was reluctant to leave one home unguarded in favor of another." That was truth enough. "To ease his concern, I volunteered to come here in his place. I'm not a warrior -as you might have already guessed- but I can still help you. I was naive and didn't know just how dangerous a Saiyan could be -aside from Gohan and his brothers, we'd never seen a Saiyan on Namek. So, he chose to come to Earth after all."

"So, he's not here to be our hero." She translated. "He's here to make sure you get home safely, whether we succeed or die."

"I didn't say that!" Dende was quick to retort. "Gohan is a pure heart! Now that he's here, I'm sure he wants to help! He just- I haven't shared water with him in a while, so I don't know his true feelings!" Then, more to himself, "I haven't known his true feelings for a while."

There was a beat of silence while Videl processed all that. Then she asked, "What's this 'water-sharing' you keep mentioning?"

"Its a Namek thing." He didn't feel like explaining.

"So… if I give him some water, he'll just tell me himself?" She asked. "Wow. I had no idea it was so easy. Alright. I'll go share water with him myself!"

"Wait, what? No!" Dende protested. But Videl was already on her feet and exiting the infirmary. "That's not what water sharing is."

…

Gohan sat on the crumbling bit of wood and plaster that used to be his bedroom wall. Wearing the orange uniform Lunch made for him, his father's staff, the Nyoi-bo, across his lap. It was nice to have heirlooms of his father. Prior to coming to Earth, all Gohan had of Son Goku were spotty memories and the stories and reminiscings of his mother, Bulma-san and Piccolo-san. Now he had something solid and tangible. Something he could hold in his hands. The Nyoi-bo, the four star dragon ball, and his father's dogi. Keepsakes from a happier time when the Earth was safe, their family was whole and the worst thing anyone had to worry about was Piccolo-san's quest for revenge. It was nice to have keepsakes and reminders of such a calmer time, even if he was to young to remember them.

But, at the same time, these things were also a heavy weight to bear. Not because the staff or the dogi was literally heavy. No. But because of what they represented. What people expected of him. Kuririn and Yamcha brought him to Earth because he was his father's son. Because he was the eldest son of their hero and savior. Because they wanted him to become the same. Hero and savior. They gave him Nyoi-bo, not because it had been his father's and therefore should pass to him, but because it had been their hero's and the next hero should also wield it. Lunch made him a new dogi, one in his father's colors, not because he needed new clothes or because she liked to sew and needed a project, but because it would make him look more like Son Goku in the eyes of those who knew him.

They were trying to re-create Son Goku in him.

"You're thinking to hard." Stated a voice from behind him. Blunt and gruff, and vaguely familiar.

Gohan turned and for a half-second his heart jumped up into his throat. Dad! Then his brain caught up with his eyes and he reminded himself that Dad never wore Saiyan armor. Dad didn't have a cross-shaped scar on his cheek. Dad might have been a great warrior, but he didn't stand like he was bracing for an attack at any second. This person wasn't Dad. "Bardock."

"Don't look so disappointed. I said I'd be seeing you." Said his paternal grandfather.

Gohan wasn't sure how he should react. This man was technically his grandfather, technically family. Should he run up and hug him? But at the same time, during that one year that they'd lived together, Bardock never showed Gohan one warm feeling. The closest they he ever came to showing anything that could be considered 'paternal affection' was the last time they saw each other. Bringing his plate into the kitchen and not even looking at Gohan when he said, 'You're strong. But you need to be stronger. Keep training with that 'Demon King' master of yours. Be seeing you.' Finally, Gohan decided on, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see my grandson." Bardock answered.

"Bullshit."

The older man crossed the distance between them and swung one leg over the wall which Gohan had been sitting on. Straddling the broken and weather worn wood and drywall. "Believe whatever you want. I didn't come here to win your love or affection. I have no need of such things. Just know that you are important to me, Gohan. More important that you realize, in fact. I came here to give you a… what is the word…?"

He tapped his scouter, the first time Gohan could ever remember him actually using the device, as opposed to just wearing it. Rows of tiny text in a language the hansaiya couldn't read scrolled up the screen before his grandfather finally selected the phrase he was looking for.

"I came here to give you a 'pep-talk'." He announced. "You are thinking to hard."

"About what?" Gohan crossed his arms over his chest and did not reclaim his seat on the wall next to the older man.

Bardock reached down and picked up the Nyoi-bo from where the boy had dropped it. "About this." He hooked his other hand under the sleeve of the orange and blue dogi Gohan wore. "And about this. They don't matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. These are just things. They don't make you a warrior and they won't make you your father. And, quite frankly, you shouldn't be your father. In order to accomplish what needs to be done, you can't be your father."

"What does that mean?" Asked the younger man. "My father was a great man! Why shouldn't I be like him?"

"Kakarot was… soft." Bardock tried to explain. "You have some of that same softness in you, it comes from being raised in a place of temperate peace. But the thing that makes you different from your father, the thing that makes you better than your father, is that you understand what happens when you allow an enemy the chance to 'change'. You value the peace you've lived in these past eight years far more than he valued the peace he lived in and I know you'll do what needs to be done to protect that peace."

Gohan made a face. "Kuririn has already explained to me that I should stop showing mercy to the other Saiyans here because they won't understand the chance to change. If that's what you've come to say, I've heard it all before. Sorry you wasted a trip, Bardock."

"Stop acting like an uppity brat and sit down." Bardock snapped. "I'm not talking about the battles you're fighting on this backwater mudball. I'm talking about my son's naiveté and how it shows that sometimes its better to destroy an enemy than to offer a chance to change! You're father could have beaten the Sayain King. If he had challenged the King back then, then he would not have died. You and your mother would never have been taken to Vegeta-sei and throne in that pit. You never would have had to live in fear of the monarchy. But he didn't. He gave himself up willing. Like a cattle for slaughter. He trusted that if he did that, then the monarchy would leave you and the Earth alone. He gave them the chance to be better. That is what I'm talking about!"

"Dad believed everyone deserves a chance to change!" Gohan protested.

"Exactly." Bardock nodded. "And look where it got him. What it got you and your mother."

"But that's not always the case." Gohan insisted. "Piccolo-san was a bad guy. But he changed! And Dad's friend Tenshinhan! He was a bad guy too! Hell! Even Yamcha used to be a bandit until he met my Dad!"

"Now start naming the Saiyans that have mended their 'evil ways' since meeting your father." Bardock replied.

Gohan remained tactfully silent. He didn't know of any full-blooded Saiyans that had changed since his father's arrest or execution. Then again, he spent the past eight years living in exhale and isolation on Namek. He wasn't exactly in a position to know if anyone had changed since his father's death. The question was an unfair one. Still, Bardock's point was made.

"You're father's way was tried." The older man continued. "Don't worry about trying to be like him. Another Kakarot is not what is needed right now. You must find your own way." A pause. "And when you are ready, I will take you to Vegeta-sei."

Gohan gasped. He stood gaping at Bardock. "But, I-"

"You will be ready." Bardock reminded him. "And you will not be alone. You will have back-up. The victorious dead will follow you into battle. Until then, do as you have been doing. Help the people of this rock free their world. Seek your own way, do not dwell in your father's shadow. And…" HIs vision shifted, his eyes focusing on something far away. Then his smiled a knowing grin and his attention returned to his grandson. "And take the bottle. You won't regret it. Be seeing you."

Bardock stood from the wall, walked a few paces towards the trees, then was gone.

"'Take the bottle'? Gohan called after the empty wind "What the hell does that even mean!?"

His ki flared with irritation at his paternal grandfather's cryptic parting advice. But the moment he realized he was letting his energy rise, he tapped it back down again, fast. When not on missions, it was important to keep his ki suppressed, lest an errant Saiyan pick up his energy on their scouter.

…

Raisu was about ready to give up on his search for the strong-man today. Flying around without a destination just wasn't the way to find someone. The only strong power levels his scouter could pick-up were those of the men stationed here on Earth. Saiyans loyal to the monarchy. Everything else was one great, giant, flat line. The creatures of this world were truly pitiful.

But then, just as he was about to turn around and fly back to the look out, there was a blip.

Just a small little spike in the otherwise flat line of the Earth's ki. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared. The kind of spike that came from sudden irritation or flared emotions. It wasn't much. But it was a lead. It was the first reading above five the planet had given him since he stepped out of his pod. So, Raisu reset his scouter to trace that individual ki signature and zero-in on its location.

…

"Who are you talking to?"

Gohan turned around to see none other than Videl Satan standing behind him holding a plastic water bottle. He suddenly realized how strange he must look. Bardock was already long gone, leaving him shouting at an empty wood. Yup. She probably thought he was crazy. Great. "I was, uh… its complicated."

"Complicated." She repeated. "Ah. That explains everything."

She sat down on the weather worn wall, right where Bardock had sat, and placed the water bottle down next to her.

Gohan couldn't tell if she was actually accepting that answer, or just being sarcastic. In the end he decided that, in this moment, he didn't care. "Is there something I can help you with?"

There was a pause in which all she did was look him up and down. From the spiked tips of his hair, down to the pointed toes of the Namekian slippers, before finally climbing back up to settle on his face. Videl held the water bottle out to him. "Here."

Gohan did not accept the bottle. Not out of any absurd idea or rebellion against Bardock's cryptic advice -which may or may not have been referring specifically to this bottle at this moment- or because he didn't feel Videl Satan was someone he wanted to share water with, or even because he just didn't happen to be thirsty at the moment. No, the reason Gohan didn't take the offered bottle was because something else drew his attention. Something more pressing than a couple ounces of filtered river water. His senses picked up the faint signature of an unfamiliar ki traveling towards them.

As it got closer, he recognized it as an alien ki. As a Saiyan ki. There was a Saiyan headed almost strait to their location!

Videl sensed it almost a moment after he did. She dropper her water bottle and leapt to her feet. "Gohan, do you feel that!"

"A Saiyan." He nodded, not looking at her, instead keeping his now narrowed eyes fixed on the direction the alien warrior was coming from. "Something must have drawn him to us."

He shouldn't have let his frustration with Bardock get the better of him. To let his ki fluctuate with his emotions. Piccolo taught him better control than that. If an errant Saiyan could pick up on his ki, then he would inadvertently lead the monarchy directly to their base!

They were in the woods of Mount Paozu right now. Not technically in Dragon Rock. But the two areas were literally right next to each other. Within walking distance for him. If the Saiyan thought to search the surrounding areas, he would discover the cave systems of Dragon Rock in a heartbeat. "We're to close to the base." He told her. "We need to draw him away from the others."

Gohan jumped into the air before Videl had time to respond.

"What? Gohan, wait!" She followed after him.

He did not pause or slow down, but the hansaiya did turn his head to reply to her, "You fly to slow. Suppress your ki and let me handle this."

That wrankled her a bit. Videl's original distrust of the half-Saiyan welling back up in her. Like hell was she going to leave him alone with one of those alien monsters. What if her really was a Saiyan spy after all? What if this was just a ruse to give him an opportunity to pass on information to the enemy? It was true that the All Seeing Witch vouched for him, said he could be trusted, that he would be the hero and champion they needed to rid their world of the alien monsters. But then, hadn't her sight been blocked by that Saiyan seer? Didn't she only just learn of Gohan after their block was lifted? Who's to say that her Vision wasn't being clouded now?

As much as Videl was beginning to feel a small amount of sympathy for the hansaiya, it still didn't change the fact that he was half-alien, half-monster, half-Saiyan. Nothing with Saiyan blood could be trusted.

Videl thrust her harm out in front of her and grabbed onto his ankle. "Well, if I fly to slowly then you'll just have to pull me! You're not gonna face an enemy alone! You're to important!" You're not gonna see a Saiyan alone. You're to dangerous.

Still without pausing their flight, Gohan sighed. Bending at the waist so that he could grab the hand clenched around his ankle and pull her up beside him. "Videl-san, you are to much."

She didn't know how to respond to that, so Videl only gave a polite smile to indicate that she had heard him over the rushing air.

The air, to Gohan's great relief, managed to keep her tantalizing feminine scent from teasing his senses. But it did little to distract form the fact that her petite and lithe body was pressed flush against his side. The sensation made the blood rush in his veins and he honestly couldn't tell if he was excited because of her, or because they were being tracked by an enemy and there was a possible fight on the horizon.

"Is this far enough away, you think?" She asked after a few moments more. "Or are you planning on flying all the way around the globe so that we land right back at the base?"

"This is fine, I guess." He admitted, halting their flight and letting go of her. They now hovered over a desolate stretch of land that looks like it might have been a copper mine but was now just a wide, open bowl in the Earth. Hollowed out and empty. Just a gray and brown scar.

Videl floated in the air, her attention now focusing on the Saiyan's ki, still coming towards their location.

"We should land and suppress our ki." Said Gohan.

"Why?" Videl blinked at him. "He already knows we're here. Hiding won't do anything. We should make a stand and fight."

"Okay, let me rephrase that. You should land and suppress your ki." He amended. "You're strong for a human, but you can't even form a basic ki ball or wave yet. You're more likely to get yourself killed than do any real good. I don't mean to be rude, but you should stay out of the way."

Okay, that pissed her off. Yes, it was true that she was still just learning to basics of using ki during combat. Yes, all she could really do as far as ki manipulation was fly, and even that she wasn't very advanced in. Yes, she couldn't throw around energy waves and balls like they were hacky-sacks. But that still didn't give him the right to dismiss her like that. She and the rest of the their rebel group did just fine before he came along! Yeah, it took, like, four of them to finish off one Saiyan, but they still managed. She could manage in this fight too.

"How 'bout no." She said. "You stay out of my way."

"Videl," he pleaded, "I'm serious. You could get hurt -or killed!"

"Oh please, don't give me that. I could get hurt or killed on any mission, but you don't seem to stop me or anyone else from going on any of them."

"I just think that right now isn't the best time for you to take on a Saiyan alone."

"Exactly! You shouldn't be taking on a Saiyan alone. I'll be your back-up."

"No. That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant."

"You're not being reasonable."

"Neither are you."

"Oh, this is so cute…" Commented a third voice.

So wrapped up were they in their disagreement that both Gohan and Videl failed to notice that the Saiyan's ki had arrived at their location. They looked from each other to find an Elite in full armor hovering in the air not two feet from them. He hovered in the air, arms crossed over his chest, an expression of mild amusement over his face.

"Oh, please, don't stop on my account. This sounds like a conversation that should be finished before I send you both to the next dimension."

To spite his gracious offer, their argument ended the moment they both realized he was there. Gohan placed himself between the Videl and the Saiyan. Without looking back at her, keeping his eyes narrowed at the enemy, Gohan said, "Videl, get out of here. Now. I can handle this."

The Saiyan smiled. "You think you can handle me? You must be the rebels new 'strong man' then. Sure, fight me along or fight me with your girl. It makes no difference. Today I shall be the one to defeat you."

"Pretty bold words for an alien monkey." Videl shot from behind Gohan's back. "Gohan has beaten every single Saiyan he's gone up against. What makes you different that all the others?"

To their confusion, rather than becoming irate at the 'alien monkey' comment, the Saiyan laughed. A dark violent laugh of dry amusement. "Those other weaklings he so easily defeated were the dregs of our great military. The Low Levels that are worthless except for babysitters. I, on the other hand, am an Elite Warrior. A member of the ruling class. The strongest class of Saiyans. I am Lord Raisu, First Class, Third Attendant to the King. And you?" He smiled, not giving either Gohan or Videl a chance to respond with introductions of their own. "You no longer exist!"

That was the only warning he gave before launching himself at the pair.

Raisu brought both fists down on Gohan, sending the younger man careening downwards to slam into the dead landscape below. A cloud of dust billowed upwards, accented by flying stones flung up by the sheer force with which he was flung.

"Gohan!" Videl shouted after him. Mostly out of shock that their hero, whom was thus far undefeated, could be thrown so easily. But also, shockingly, out of a small measure of actual concern for his well-being.

"Don't worry, girly." Raisu crooned. "You'll be joining him soon…"

Here eyes widened in sudden fear. Her hear hammering against the inside of her ribcage as it had the night Angela died. Videl glared at the Saiyan, determined to meet her death defiantly, as she had that night. He lifted one fist to strike at her and Videl brought her own arms up to block the death-blow.

But the blow didn't fall.

Instead, a rush of air streaked by her ear.

"You will not touch her!"

Gohan was back up and back in the fight. Bringing all his hansaiya power and Demon-style training into the fray.

His fist connected with Raisu's cheek, forcing the older man back a few feet in the air. He recovered quickly, however, and rushed back to close the distance between himself and his hansaiya opponent. But the slight delay did give Gohan the chance to gather his ki into an attack.

"Masenko-ha!"

Raisu dodged the attack. The numbers on his scouter climbing crazily as the energy wave passed him by. He looked back at Gohan as if seeing him for the first time. "That- no human could produce an attack that powerful. You're no ordinary human. What are you?"

"Gohan," Videl hissed at his side. "If you throw energy around like that, it will attract every Saiyan on the planet with a working scouter."

"She's right, ya know." Raisu admitted. "We keep at it and my countrymen will be along soon to see what's going on. And I want the honor of killing you all to myself. So, lets get this over with quickly. Be a good little wretch and roll over and die!"

He was about to rush back in to attack again. But the moment he began his flight back to close the distance between him and his opponent, someone new appeared. Literally, right out of thin air. He hovered in between Raisu and Gohan. His green armored back to the hansaiya, his scarred face turned towards the Elite. "Now is not the time."

"Who the hell do you think you are!?" Raisu roared. "How dare you interfere with my battle. Do you know who I am!?"

The newcomer only smiled. "Do you know who I am?"

"Bardock." Gohan said to his back. "What are you doing here?" The 'again' was left unsaid. Almost eight years his paternal grandfather hadn't given him the slightest bit of attention, now here he was showing up twice in one day.

"Bardock?" Raisu echoed. "The mad Seer Bardock? I thought you died, old man."

Bardock ignored that comment and instead continued. "Now is not the time for you to fight with Son Gohan. You will meet each other again on another field when the time is right. And when you meet again, only one of you will walk away from that fight."

"Why can't I kill him now?" Demanded the Elite.

"Now would be a meaningless victory." Bardock explained. "But later… later your battle would be the birth of a Legend."

"'Legend'?" Raisu's eyes went wide, then narrowed once again. "You mean to say…"

"I mean to say." Nodded the Seer. "Legendary."

"The Legendary…" Raisu muttered with stars in his eyes. "I could be…" He cleared his throat, regaining his composure and refocusing his attention. "Very well, Seer, I shall leave the boy for now and wait until we meet again on the field of battle."

Bardock nodded. Then turned around to face his grandson and Videl. "Now you two are going back to base."

He placed one hand on each of their shoulders and within the blink of an eye they were no longer floating in mid-air above an abandoned copper mine, but rather standing back in ruins of Gohan's childhood home.

"What just happened?" Asked Videl.

"Bardock, what was all that about?" Asked Gohan.

"You'll understand when you are ready." Answered the older man. Then he once again disappeared. In an instant.

There was silence for one… two… three beats before Videl asked, "Gohan, who was that? He looked… He looked like the pictures I've seen of your dad. But, your dad's dead. Isn't he?"

He turned away from her before answering. "That was Bardock. He's my grandfather. But I don't know him that well. I only just met him after my dad died and he didn't hang around for very long."

Gohan reached down to pick up the water bottle she'd left when they first felt Raisu's ki. He was about to take a sip from it because he was thirsty but stopped himself at the last minute, remembering that it was her water and he still wasn't sure if he wanted to share water with her or not. He set the bottle back down, unopened.

"My dad's dead too, ya know." She blurted out suddenly. Then paused to collect her words better. "I mean… I always thought he was probably dead. But he wasn't until just recently. Now he is dead. He was at the work camp we freed. He was freed with the others but he stayed behind to help Eresa. He died trying to fight a Saiyan. To give Eresa time to escape. He died a hero. Maybe not as great a hero as your dad, but still a hero. I know I should be proud of him, but… but its hard to be proud when you just feel so… angry!"

Gohan looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. He handed her water back to her and she drank from the bottle thankfully.

"Because he's not here anymore." Gohan supplied. "You're angry because everyone keeps talking about how wonderful he was and what a great man he was. But its easy to say nice things about a person who's not around anymore. You don't have any memories of his greatness, just other people's stories."

"My dad wasn't all that great." Videl admitted. "He was negligent. Always to busy with his matches, or conventions, or publicity stunts to spend time with my mom and I. Its why she left."

"He was always going off somewhere else to save someone else. It was like complete strangers were more important to him than his own family."

"The last conversation I had with him was over the phone. The phone! I didn't even get to speak with him in person. I wanted him to come to my school's fundraiser. But his stupid match was more important than me!"

"The last time I saw my dad he was walking to his execution without a care in the world. Like it didn't matter that my mom and I would be left at the mercy of the monarchy without him there to protect us!"

There was a pause as each looked at the other, some strange and ephemeral feeling of kinship passing between them.

"Gohan, I think you and I are equally messed-up."

He sighed. "Probably."

She held the water bottle out for him, offering him a drink. "But its a good kind of messed-up. For the first time since you arrived, you're showing that you're an actual person."

"I think I've gonna choose not to take that an as insult." He sat down next to her and took the offered bottle. "Has anyone explained to you about water sharing?"

…

Half-way back to the Look Out, Raisu was intercepted by a small squad of mid-level warriors.

"Our scouters picked up your skirmish." Explained the squad leader. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Raisu assured him. "Nothing important. Not worth bothering the King over. I will take care of it."


	17. The Avalanche Upon the Mountain

Vegeta came to admit to himself that perhaps coming to Earth was a wast of time after all. The rebel's strong man could not be his son. The guards from the work camp described him as tall and dark-haired. A young man. Not a small boy, lavender-haired and (considering who his mother was) bad tempered. This whole trip had been an exercise in futility. Bulma wouldn't have been stupid enough to return to her home planet. Not while it was under his monarchy's occupation. Neither his mate nor his son were here.

"Raisu, get ready. We're leaving." Ordered the King.

Raisu made no move to follow that command. "Your Majesty, I respectfully request permission to stay here. Even if the reports of a rebel strong man couldn't be substantiated, the rebellion still needs to be squelched. I'd like to stay behind. With Your Majesty's permission of course."

Vegeta paused a moment at the request. He could sense Raisu had some sort of ulterior motive. Something beside crushing a small and localized rebellion. But he couldn't guess what it was. Even if his reasons weren't completely clear, what could be the harm in letting Raisu stay? The King shrugged. "Do as you please."

Let Raisu play out whatever fantasies of ruling a world all his own and concurring the natives. Bulma and their son weren't here so Vegeta didn't care. He just hoped that wherever they were, that they were alive and well.

…

Trunks and Goten spent a great majority of the ride back from Vegeta-sei confined to quarters. Bulma was beyond livid with them when Tarble brought them back to the ship. In fact, Trunks had never seen his mother so angry before. Angry or scared. Her whole body shuddered with her effort to destain her emotions. All she managed to growl out was, "You two. Inside. Now!"

That was some time ago.

Tarble showed them into a small one-man bunk room and the two did not leave it except to use the facilities.

Trunks groaned with boredom and cast his eyes out the small viewport. The mottled vortex of hyperspace raced by outside, speeding them away from the Saiyan home world. Vegeta-sei hadn't exactly been what he expected. Not that anyone had ever really told him anything about it to begin with, but he did develop an idea of what it might have been like from what everyone told him about pure-blooded Saiyans, and then of course the conversations he wasn't supposed to overhear between the adults.

He thought Vegeta-sei was big buildings and narrow streets. Tall towers and dark dungeons. Of powerful warriors and evil Kings. The perfect place to have an adventure! But instead it was flat and dirty, and everyone was sad or angry, or both. Not fun at all. And it didn't even seem all that dangerous either. The way Mama talked, he thought that the very air would have been poison and he and Goten would have been attacked on the spot the moment they stepped off the ship. But nothing like that happened. In fact, the closest they came to getting into a fight was when they accidentally made that one lady mad.

Tarble tried to explain it to them once the ship made the jump to hyperspace. He told them that, that woman was holding a funeral for her child that had died. She was already very emotionally strained and Saiyans -as a general rule- didn't handle their emotions very well. Trunks and Goten's antics pushed her to a breaking point. If Tarble hadn't shown up when he did, a real fiht might have broken out.

"But Goten and I can handle ourselves!" Trunks had protested when his uncle explained that.

But Tarble just shook his head. He assured Trunks that he had every conference in his and Goten's power and abilities. Their dual lineage made them strong and from what he understood, they were well trained by a very great master. But that was not why Tarble was glad the fight was avoided. If they fought the woman, the two might have won, but their battle most definitely would have been picked up by a scouter. Either a city guard on regular patrol, a patron come to purchase a new slave, heck! maybe just someone just wandering by. One way or another, they would have been discovered and that would have gotten not only the boys but also Tarble and Bulma in trouble with the authorities. They couldn't fight off an entire planet and Tarble's title of Archduke and status as brother to the King would not save them from the sentence for harboring hansaiya.

Overall, Trunks decided that he did not like Vegeta-sei.

Trunks felt his weight shift as the ship decelerated and then with a great lurch fell out of hyperspace.

"Ah! We're home!" Goten smiled at him. "I can't to tell Mama all about our trip!"

"She'll probably be just as mad at us as my Mama is." Trunks informed him seriously.

That burst the younger boy's cheerful mood quickly. His eyebrows drooped as he thought about the prospect of coming home to an angry Chichi. "Ya think so…?"

"Yeah." Trunks nodded. Chichi-san was generally more easily angered than his own Mama. So, if his Mama was so angry she couldn't even speak, Trunks couldn't even imagine how angry Goten's mom would be. She might just explode. He tried not to think about that thought. Instead, the hansaiya floated up to get a better angle with which to peer through the viewport. "Wha- that's not Namek!"

"Huh? What do ya mean, Trunks?"

Goten floated up next to him, both boys pressing their tiny faces against the transparasteel glass to get a look at the planet they had just exited hyperspace over. True, it was not the bright and inviting green of Namek. Neither was it the deep crimson of Vegeta-sei. Or even the marbled blue of Mama's home plant Earth. No, the planet they were now slowly defending towards was mostly yellow and beige. Like one giant desert with jagged lines of blue cutting through it. A few darker blue patches here and there that might have been seas -or at least very small oceans. But overall, desert.

"Lets go see what's going on." Trunks suggested.

"But what if Bulma-san gets mad at us again? I don;t wanna get into any more trouble."

Trunks ignored the younger boy's protest and exited the bunk anyway.

"Why the hell are we here!?" His mother's shrill voice filled the cabin. Trunks clamped his hands down over his ears and almost darted back into the bunk. His Mama was scary when she was angry. But then, if she was busy yelling at Uncle Tarble, then she probably wouldn't notice him. So long as he kept himself quiet and didn't do anything to attract her attention. Slowly, Trunks crept closer to the cockpit.

"I agreed to take you away from Namek so that your presence would no longer be a threat to your village." Tarble replied, irritation coloring his voice. He usually tried to be patient and polite with everyone, but Mama had been upset with him for one thing or another this whole trip and it was probably beginning to wear on his nerves. "This is my home planet of Gyu. Here you will be safe from the monarchy."

"What about Goten-chan!?" Mama screeched.

"He can stay too."

"No!" She protested. "We have to return him to Namek! Chichi is probably worried sick about him! She's probably going out of her mind with worry! She might not even know he came with us! For all she might know, he's lost or missing. I don't know what would be worse for her. Not knowing what happened to her baby boy, or knowing that her best friend allowed her baby boy to be taken to the Saiyan home world. Turn the ship around! We're taking Goten home!"

"Can't." Uncle Tarble replied simply.

"Don't give me that! We dropped out of hyperspace. Warm the drivers back up and set in a new course!"

"We don't have the fuel for another trip." He said simply.

From where he was hiding, Trunks could only see his mother's back. He could not see her face, but he didn't need to to know just how angry she was. Her shoulders shook as she growled, "You act good-natured and kind, Tarble of the Monkeys, but you don't really give a damn about other people, do you? Chichi is suffering right now and you couldn't care less."

"Its unfortunate that she is left to wonder and worry." He said. "But Goten made his own choice to stow away and we had a plan. I can't alter that plan because one little boy decided to do something stupid."

Trunks backed up slowly, not wanting to catch either of there attention. He still wasn't sure what Uncle Tarble was like when he was angry or annoyed, he was still just getting to know the man. But Trunks knew his Mama and knew that he didn't want to catch her attention when she was angry. When Mama was angry it was always better to just wait it out. She would calm down eventually. The hansaiya slunk back to the bunk he shared with Goten. The shuttle would be landing soon and he needed to fill Goten in on what he'd heard. They weren't taking him back to Namek after all. They would get to stay together a bit longer.

Back in the cockpit, Tarble tried to tune out his sister-in-law's ranting as he turned his mind to his plan. Vegeta-niisan wasn't there when he took Bulma to the palace. He might have considered staying a while to wait for his return. But every second they spent on Vegeta-sei increased the danger for Trunks and his idiot friend. He knew bringing them in that the longer they spent on the planet, the more likely it would be of the hansaiya being discovered. However, Tarble had not realized just what magnets for trouble his nephew and his friend were. Less than three hours. They were on Vegeta-sei for less than three hours and they managed to meet two different slaves and piss off one Third Class warrior. The trip had been a bust, and it was almost a bust in more ways than one.

It was time to move forward with Plan B. Since they could not speak to Vegeta-niisan and convince him to change the system, then it was time to change the King. Kick Niisan off the throne and replace him with Trunks. Trunks would be a young King and would need a Regent to help him rule. Tarble would be that Regent. He would handle the practical parts of ruling the monarchy until Trunks was old enough to take over for real. Then he would step down. But by then he would have succeeded in what he wanted to do. He would have changed the monarchy. His father's world will have been destroyed and replaced with a new -better- world. Trunks would be his Instrument.

"You obviously don't have children!" Neesan continued. "If you did, you would't be so cruel."

Tarble bristled at the accusation. Saiyans were cruel. His father was cruel. He might be a Saiyan by birth, but he was a Gyu-jin by choice. He did not think himself cruel.

"Poor Chichi…"

The one thing Tarble was having trouble working out was just how he was going to set Trunks on the Cairngrom Throne. He'd never exactly lead a coup before, he'd only just read about them in history. Tarble didn't even know where to start.

…

Fasha continued to think about that boy with the look of house Vegeta about him and the Archduke's cryptic words. 'Who knows… a hansaiya might very well sit upon the Cairngrom Throne one day.'

It reminded Fasha of the last time she saw her former squad leader. Bardock had always been a little off, ever since his final purge mission. But the last time she saw him, on the morning before his younger son's execution, he was especially crazed. He called the whole squad back together. She thought it was to have familiar faces and old friends around for comfort when the death-blow finally fell on Kakarot. But he didn't even mention is son't eminent demise. Instead, all he talked about were hansaiya.

That it was true the hansaiya had a greater potential for power than a pure-blooded Saiyan warrior. But that did not make them a threat as the King believed. No. A hansaiya could realize the Legendary form, not seen since ancient times. He begged them all not to fear the hansaiya, but to accept them. After all, the hansaiya were their children. Perhaps not theirs specifically. A the time, Fasha, Tora, Borgos, and Shugesh had no children. But they were the children of the Saiyan people none the less. The monarchy could not continue on the path that it was, sacrificing its citizens that diverted from the social norm, or their children.

'Civilizations are built on the belief of "women and children first".' He said. 'Once a people forgets that, they are not far from their own destruction.'

Don't fear the hansaiya, accept them. And now it seemed that the House Vegeta had produced a hansaiya of their own. A hansaiya that might sit upon the Cairngrom Throne one day. Had Bardock known about this? Did he foresee with that strange ability of his that a hansaiya would one day be King? Was this why he was so adamant that they be open-minded and accepting of the half-breeds? Or was it just because his son had taken a human mate and sired a hansaiya of his own. Perhaps Bardock knew nothing of a future King being hansaiya and was simply trying to urge his former teammates to show mercy or compassion towards his grandson.

Fasha didn't know.

One thing she did know, however, she wanted to talk to an old friend.

Tora was stationed on Earth at the moment. But Borgos and Shugesh were between missions. She tapped her scouter to open a conference call.

"Hey guys." She said. "You up for drinks? The usual booth at the Stinking Load. Twenty-minutes."

…

The Temple of Fire was a large, cavernous, and dimly lit building with high windows and open lattus work. One wall, beginning from the main entrance and continuing until the wall ended at the spiral stairs that lead to the tower, was covered in murals depicting the life of the Legendary. How he appeared one day, injured by an unknown enemy but was given aid by the tribe that found him. A small horned figure was said to be an Ice-jin that appeared shortly after and attacked the ancient tribes. The mural then moved on to show the Legendary's ascension during his battle with the alien invader and his triumphant victory.

The opposite wall displayed weapons and relics of significant heroes from Vegeta-sei's history. A sword and a music box that were said to have fallen from the sky together, along with another alien warrior. The warrior claimed the music box contained a great evil, but no one could open it to substantiate this claim and so the warrior's warnings were ignored. But the box and his sword were kept by the Priests of Fire anyway. Next to the music box and sword was an ancient plasma gun that was said to have been wielded by the King of the Tuffles before their final defeat at the hands of the first King Vegeta. Other relics and antiques covered the wall, mounted on hooks or screws.

Nappa ignored both the mural and the small pseudo-museum. He knew the story of the Legendary. It was a story his father made him memorize from his boyhood. For generations his family served the Vegeta family, and the Vegetas were descended from the Legendary. And he had no interest in old relics or ancient items. History had value, this he understood. But Nappa was not particularly interested in history at the moment. Nappa strides through the large cavernous chamber of the Temple's main room.

Next to the stairs that lead up to the high tower was an iron rack of candles, almost all tall as an adult male warrior. It came up to Nappa's shoulder.

Fire was the method used to issue warriors their Final Dispatch and so flames were how those Dispatched were remembered. Today, Nappa came to the Temple of Fire to light a candle and remember his father. He had been doing so every year since he helped Vegeta's woman and bastard escape. His father taught him to serve the House Vegeta, serve the legacy of the Legendary. But then, was sending the boy away really the best way to serve the House Vegeta. At the time, he thought it was. But now Nappa was beginning to see the lasting repercussions of that decision. Vegeta hated his own people because of that decision. Refused to sire a pure-blood heir with a Saiyan woman. Was determined to leave no heir to the rhone and create a power vacuum when his Final Dispatch finally came. A power vacuum that wold tear the monarchy apart. And worst of all, Vegeta looked forward to this decline. Wanted the destruction of their society.

Nappa came to light a candle for his father, and perhaps also the late King Vegeta, and ask whether or not he did the right thing.

Perhaps it would have been better to keep the boy on the planet. Maybe hide him in the slave's village outside the city. With his coloring, and without the tell-tale tail no one would have known his true heritage. Then, after the old King died and Vegeta ascended to the Cairngrom Throne, the boy could have been brought into the light. Revealed for who and what he really was and named as heir.

Would he have served a hansaiya King?

Maybe…

Given that the current alternative was an angry and resentful King whom hated his own people and looked forward to their own destruction, Nappa regretted his decision to send the boy away.

He pinched the candle wick between his thumb and forefinger, letting a small amount of ki flow through his hand. The wick flickered into flame and he withdrew his hand. The candle to remember his father was lit, but it would give him no answers. One answer was a clear to him now, helping the woman and boy live -while he was reluctant and had misgivings- was the right decision to make, but sending them away was the wrong one. Because of that decision he had a King who hated his people and a boy who would be heir that no one knew how to find.

Did he even want to find the boy? Was it worth the trouble?

…

When Borgos was on leave he usually stayed with his brother, whom owned a small flat in the dense and congested part of town ambivalently called Low Town. It was mostly populated by Third Class warriors, or retired combatants. The neighborhood was not called a 'slum' by grace of the fact that not a single one of its residence lived in poverty. No. It was just a tightly packed and dirty part of town. Borgos loved it.

In his mind, it was a glittering example of the real Saiyan people. Not the high-born Elites, with their polished armor and glittering towers, their noses stuck up in the air like they don't shit like everyone else. They were the top of the melting pot that was the capitol. They were the cream that rose. But everyone knows that the real meat can always be found at the bottom. That was what Low Town was to Borgos, the meat of the monarchy. He loved returning home.

But this time, when Borgos staggered into his brother's flat, tired from his mission, dirty, and looking forward to a cleanse and a nap, what he found was his brother sitting at the food prep table thumbing a dirty yellow ribbon and looking like he'd just lost right arm -or another equally vital body part.

Borgos was not the most vocal of warriors, but he was a good listener and Toteppo looked like he could do with some talking. So he sighed. Suppressed his desire for a cleanse. Pushed aside his dreams of sleep, and pulled up a stool next to his baby brother.

It was some time before Toteppo began to speak. When he did Borgos heard a tragic romance. In the time he'd been gone, Toteppo had become taken with the young house slave they'd bought for a maid -to keep the place in order while they were on missions. The affair went unnoticed for some time and Toteppo was happy (Borgos could only assume the girl was happy too). But then he'd gotten her pregnant and she was killed by one of their neighbors whom noticed the change in her scent and knew that she had seen no human males since her purchase and so the child must have been put there by a Saiyan. And the only reparation Toteppo could demand was the property value of the slave.

Borgos had the excellent timing of coming home not long after Toteppo himself had just returned from giving the girl and her unborn child a Final Dispatch. He knew it was not the human way, but he did not know her people's way. They did not speak of death in their brief relationship. It had been about life, and light, and laughter, and house games, and-

"Whoa! Lil' Bro, I don't need to hear that much!"

Borgos spent hours just sitting with his brother. He was not a man of many words by nature and he wasn't even sure how to comfort someone to begin with. He was more used to people not really showing their feelings. Their mother did not appear so distraught when they father was killed on a mission. Neither did Toteppo show it when they mother finally died in an honor duel with another woman. But then, they were Saiyans. Death for them was honorable and right. As the toast says, 'hail the victorious dead'. Perhaps it was because the girl was human and weak, her life already delicate and fragile and needing to be protected, that he was so distraught. He could not protect her.

But then, was it not a similar situation when Bardock's son and hansaiya grandson were condemned to be publicly executed?

The son, Kakarot, was also a Saiyan, this was true. But you would not know it if you met him. He did not act like a real Saiyan. At least, that was what he was told. Borgos never got the chance to meet Bardock's son. He was to busy helping to lay the groundwork for the grandson's escape. Helping to take out the real cell guard and replace him with Tora so that the Namekian could slip into the dungeons more easily and spirit the boy away. Perhaps that was why Bardock didn't seem all that upset. Because he knew that all would be well. He did have an uncanny ability to just know things ever since they came back from Kanassa all those years ago.

It was not until after Toteppo finally cried himself to sleep -an occurrence that both brothers would later agree did not happen- when Borgos was even more exhausted than he was before but now to emotionally wired to sleep when his scouter pinged with a call from one of his old teammates.

'Bardock's Elite' broke-up not long after the Kanassa mission. Their leader going crazy and raving about the destruction of the world as they knew it tended to do that to teams. They were pulled apart and placed in different units under different captains. But they all still kept in touch. When their leaves happened to alight with each other they always tried to at least find five minutes to catch up with one another.

Borgos tapped his scouter.

"Hey guys." Fasha's voice said over the channel, sounding like she had just done some heavy thinking of her own. "You up for drinks? The usual booth at the Stinking Load. Twenty-minutes."

Well, he didn't know about Shugesh, but he could certainly use a drink and the company of old friends.

…

The Stinking Load was a dive bar in Low Town. Right next to the space port. It was the perfect place to stop in for a quick drink before leaving on a mission. Or to nurse a slow nightcap after a hard purge. Or just to meet up with former squad mates and old friends.

'Bardock's Elite' had their booth. It wasn't really 'throes' per say. It was never reserved for them or anything like that. It just happened to be the booth they always sat in. Against a side wall. Equal distances from the bar, the music grinder, and the toilet. No matter how drunk you were, anywhere you wanted to go was only twenty-three staggering steps away. Unless you wanted to go to the exit. That was a bit farther. It was the most sought after booth in the Stinking Load. Battles were fought over it and blood was spilled on it. But that just made it more special.

Shugesh arrived early to reserve it. Sitting, not in the booth, but on the actual table and taking up as much space as he possibly could. He glared murderously at anyone we glanced over to eye the booth appraisingly. This booth belonged to Bardock's Elite. No one else could have it! (Until they left.)

He smiled when Borgos lumbered through the door. Big and awkward as ever, but looking more third than usual. The two men nodded to each other across the busy room before Borgos made a detour to the bar to grab a couple of drinks for them before coming to sit at the booth. Shugesh moved off the table and took a normal seat opposite his former comrade.

"Fasha's not here yet?" He asked.

"Nah. You know her, she's late to everything." Shugesh replied with a shrug. "You look like hell."

"Family trouble." Borgos knew better than to talk about such things in public. Later maybe, he could confide in his old friend. "What about you. You're looking well."

Shugesh gave a short laugh of agreement, his large gut undulating with the action. "Yeah. Just got back from a mission in the Obora Ski system. Nice place, lots of loot. I'm sitting pretty."

"Mm." Borgos nodded and sipped his drink. A warrior rarely got rich off his salary, it was in the loot he took back from his missions that determined his real monetary wealth. The richer the planet, the better the pay-off. "In that case, you're buying the next round."

Fasha entered not to long after that. She didn't pause at the bar but went strait for their booth and sat down.

"Looks like you've done well too." Shugesh commented. "You've put on a little weight, girl."

She glared daggers at him for the weight comment but said, "I've been on leave for the past six months."

"Damn! You get injured or something?" Injuries which couldn't be healed in a matter of days with a rejuvenation chamber were rare, but they did happen.

"No." She replied flatly. "But it does sort of relate to what I wanted to talk to you about. It made me think… Do you remember the last time we all saw Bardock?"

"You mean his cray plan to spring the brat and its mother?" Shugesh asked. "I still can't believe you two and Tora went along with it. You all would have gotten it along with Kakarot if you were discovered. I don't know how you managed it, and I don't wanna know. But its over lets not bring it up again, we're in public."

Fasha shook her head and snatched his drink from in front of him, taking a swig of the caustic liquid before setting it back down -in front of herself. "That's not what I was talking about, actually." She said. "I meant before that, when he took us all out for drinks. Blew all of his purge wealth on buying rounds for the whole bar, then when everyone else was sleeping under the table talked to us about his crazy plan and about hansaiya. I've been thinking about hansaiya."

There was a brief pause.

Then Borgos repeated, "You said your leave was six months." As if he just reached a conclusion. But he said nothing more -Borgos was not a man of many words by nature- and the conversation moved on.

"Not that bleeding-heart non-sense about accepting hansaiya as normal citizens, or their parents as honorable warriors. Its just absurd! No one is going to go for it. Hansaiya are unnatural and their parents are perverts and deviants."

Fasha's grip tightened on her drink and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she would mean or turning this meeting into a brawl. Under the table, Borgos took her other hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He did not speak much, but he was observant and far cleverer than people gave him credit. He sensed the anger Shugesh's words incited in her and, though he didn't know the reason why, he could hazard a guess.

"I disagree with you." He said.

"So do I!" Fasha snarled. "Who are you to judge when you don't even know? I admit, Bardock's younger son was definitely a social deviant, he didn't even act like a Saiyan. But Kakarot is just one man. There are plenty of other perfectly normal and honorable warriors out there who grow attached to non-Saiyans. You cannot expect me to believe that they're all perverts and deviants. What if…" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "What if one of those 'perverts and deviants' was a member of the royal family? What if there was a hansaiya in the House of Vegeta?"

There was silence for one… two… three beats.

Then, "That's just ridiculous! It was the old King Vegeta who made interracial mating illegal, not just socially taboo. Why would there be a hansaiya in the House Vegeta?"

"I donna." Fasha admitted. "But didn't the old King Vegeta banish one of his sons to another planet for a while? Not to purge it or anything, but just to live there, not so different from how Bardock's son Kakarot adopted his assigned world. Who's to say that the Prince, or Archduke, or whatever he's called now, can't have taken a non-Saiyan as a mate just as Kakarot did? But, unlike Kakarot's hansaiya offspring, this one might actually have a claim to the throne. What if a hansaiya one day sat on the Cairngrom Throne?"

"That's crazy." Shugesh announced. "You're starting to talk as crazy as Bardock did before he disappeared."

"Its interesting." Borgos ran a finger around the rim of his mug. He chugged the last of his drink before continuing. "If a half-breed were to sit on the Caingrom Throne… lots of things would have to change. Old King Vegeta's Law for one."

"It would still be a social taboo." Shugesh insisted.

"Its always been a social taboo." Fasha waved her hand dismissively. "Ever since the old Tuffle War, mixing with other races has been looked own on. It was just never illegal until King Vegeta wrote it into law."

"Exactly!" Insisted Shugesh. "Its always been a taboo ever since our people freed themselves from the Tuffles. A hansaiya would never even ascend to the throne, let alone manage to keep it longer than a day. No. A hansaiya will never rule the Saiyan people. Not even a bastard of the Vegeta Dynasty."

The conversation seemed to die there and talk turned to other subjects. To old stories from the past. Or new stories of the misadventures of their newer -younger- squad mates from their new squads. There was no more mention of hansaiya, social taboos, or Bardock. He was their leader, but he had been absent from their lives for almost a decade. They remembered him, but -overall- they had moved on.

When the drinks were all drunk and the tabs all paid for, Bardock's Elite left their booth and exited the Stinking Load to go their separate ways.

"Where have you been staying during your leave?" Borgos asked Fasha after they were out.

The golden sky had darkened with clouds and the weather threatened rain.

"At my family's house in Middle Town." She supplied.

He nodded and without saying more turned in the direction of Middle Town. His silent way of saying, 'I'll fly you home.'

Fasha flew beside him, glad for the company and appreciative of his silence. Of all her former squad mates, Borgos was the one she missed the most after they were broken up and reassigned. He was big and quiet, but sometimes that was the best kind of company. A strong presence but a calm demeanor.

Then he spoiled the silence by saying, "Six months is standard maternity leave for female warriors."

She said nothing.

"Its a strange thing to be so concerned with hansaiya so soon after having a child of your own."

Again, she said nothing, but began to fly slower. Drifting down, closer to the narrow streets below and darkness they offered for her to hide in. The sky was cloudy and gray and that made the streets nearly black. The maintenance of the public lights in Low Town was often neglected by the city.

Borgos didn't let her drift to far from him. He took her tiny hand in his massive one. "Hey, hey, Fash. Fash!"

"Leave me along, Borgos." She said wiping what we are going to call 'dust' from her eye. "I can fly back to my parent's house alone."

For a moment he said nothing, as if contemplating doing as she asked. Trun around and fly back to Low Town and be with his brother. Let her return to her family on her own. Then, he just blurted out, "I almost had a human for a sister-in-law."

"Huh?" Fash blinked at him.

"Toteppo… I got home just earlier today and, apparently, while I was gone he had an affair with our house-slave and got her pregnant. She was killed though, and the baby with her."

This time it could not be called dust but real tears that Fasha reached her hands up to cover before they could be seen. "Sorry. I'm still overly emotional, hormones all out of wack, ya know."

They both stopped flying and Borgos wrapped both his massive arms around her, providing a comfort that he could not give his brother. Male Saiyans did not hug. But females did. Borgos was not good with words and did not use them often, but he could show his concern in other way. So, he gave her a great, big, warm, but gentle hug.

"He was what the humans called a 'grease monkey'. He was one of the slaves that maintained my family's vehicles. Not just our pods, but land transports and cargo-speeders. It was that term that first got me curious about him. 'Grease monkey'. You know that 'monkey' is a derogatory term for Saiyans. I wanted to know how it applied to humans and what he did. Then things just… escalated."

Borgos did not know what to say, so he said nothing. Just continued to hold her.

"I was pretty sure he was the father when I learned I was pregnant, but I'd had Saiyan partners too. I'm not really the lifemate type. It wasn't until the baby tumbled out with green hair that I was sure -and so was everyone else."

Here, her narrative degraded into sobs and she was unable to continue. Borgos healed her and stroked her dark hair, his tail wrapping around her waist to add another layer to their hug. Fasha hiccuped into his chest.

"Bardock was right, ya know. We shouldn't fear the hansaiya. Yes, they have a greater threshold for power, a higher potential, the potential to become the Legendary. That makes then scary because they will be stronger than us. But… they are our children. Civilizations are built on the belief of 'women and children first'. Once a people forgets that, they are not far from their own destruction."

"What are you saying?"

She pushed away from him, just enough to have a bit of her own space as they hovered in the air. The clouds that threatened rain finally broke and a light drizzle began to plink against their armor. "Bardock used to rave about the destruction of the Saiyans. The end of our world and the end of our way of life. I used to think it was just ravings, that that last mission unhinged him. But now… I would not be surprised if all the parents of all the murdered children stood up and said 'NO! No more!' The Vegeta is the most powerful House among all our people, but they are still very few. We are many. If we… if we could just get organized…"

She started to cry again. Borgos drifted over to hug her again but she waved him off.

"I'm just so angry!" The rain being to beat harder, not accompanied with heavy wind. "I killed my own lover, you know. The father of my child. Because my family demanded it. To preserve the family honor. That's all they care about, ya know. The 'family honor', how the rest of the world views the family. We count the names of our ancestors more valuable than the names of our sons! But it has to end. No, it will end. Bardock saw it. The end of the world as we knew it. And now I know how. I know the answer. I've met him."

That was a curious declaration. Borgos raised one eyebrow and uttered only one word. "How?"

She smiled an evil smile. "I wasn't speaking in hypotheticals back at the bar." She said. "There is a hansaiya within the House Vegeta. I've seen him. I've spoken with him. His coloring is all wrong, but his face is that of the Vegeta family. Borgos, you must understand. After all, your brother is just like me. Think of how things could be different if there was a hansaiya on the throne."

"Fasha, what your taking about is treason." He informed her with concern.

"So denounce me to the tribunal." She scoffed dismissively, and Borgos knew what she meant. Denounce her, send her to prison or to an execution and another angry deviant with a murdered child would just take her place. There was a roll of thunder and a clap of lightning when she swore, "A hansaiya will sit upon the Cairngrom Throne."


	18. The Edge

"This will not be like our other missions." A brunette Lunch explained to the assembled teams. "Before we were nothing more than a nuisance to them. Raiding store houses and supple shipments like mice. But after our success at the Orange Star work camp-" people shot beaming glances towards Gohan whom was picking at the embroidery of the Demon School symbol on his dogi "-we realize we're capable of taking bigger risks for bigger targets. We won't be mice anymore."

She turned towards a large map that was mounted on the cavern wall. No plasma screens or holographic displays for them. To high tech. Required to much power. The Cave had a small generator which gave them electric lighting and heat. But it didn't generate enough energy to power the whole Cave system and a powerful high resolution display screen and hard drive. Heck, even Power Point was just a tad above them.

"But remember, she continued, our missions from this point on will be far more dangerous and more and more of us are likely to be killed. No one will blame you if you choose to leave now. We will not think less of you."

She paused.

No one stood to leave.

"Very well. This is the Skull Valley ship yards." Lunch announced, placing her hand on the large paper map. "It is at the foot of Mount Paozu, no more than ninety kilometers from where we are now. You might consider it our next door neighbor. Gentlemen and ladies, we are going to take the shipyards! All its buildings, facilities, and vehicles are going to be captured and repurposed to help us!"

There was a unanimous shout of 'hu-RAH!' following this announcement.

"This mission will be run differently than others. You will split up into three teams for this mission." She continued, brushing a strand of dark hair back behind her ear. "Team one will sneak in through the compound's drainage system here." She pointed to a spot on the edge of the map. "From there you will find and deactivate the campus' security system, allowing team two to sneak into the compound."

"'Drainage system'?" Echoed Shu, his fox ears twitching. "Don't you mean the sewers? Whoever's on team one will have to wade through shit."

This incited laughter from the entire room.

"Well, we've been taking their shit for a while now." Yamcha laughed.

"Metaphorically." Kuririn clarified. "Not literally."

"Team one has the least dangerous job of the mission." Lunch informed the room.

"I'm in." Kuririn announced without hesitation.

"You're showering for six hours before you come back to bed." Eighteen informed him casually.

Once again, the room erupted with laughter.

Lunch waited a few moments for them to quiet down before continuing. "Team two will consist of our fighters. You will draw the Saiyan guards and staff out. Only instead of engaging them over the compound as you usually do, you will instead draw them away from the shipyard so that team three can work unimpeded. If you could actually kill the Saiyans, that would be great," -her eyes lingered on Gohan for a moment before returning to the rest of the gathered crowd- "but don't over tax yourselves. Our objective is not to kill all enemies, but to capture the base with the vehicles intact. Team three will be taking the ships."

She tacked up a second piece of paper next to the map. This one looked to be old blueprints of some sort of fighter jet. "This is the DB/SF-001 that was being designed by Capsule Corp a little before the Saiyan occupation. It is a one-man fighter that can be flown in either outer space or within Earth's atmosphere. The Saiyans don't use them because they have no use for them, but they haven't destroyed them either because they might find a use for it later and don't have the knowledge or ability to build their own. So, they moved them from West City to Skull Valley for storage. We are short of fighters. We've always been short of fighters powerful enough to take on the Saiyans. Now that Gohan-chan is here, we have an edge, but Gohan is only one man. With these star fighters we could help even the playing field and take some of the heat off Son Gohan."

Sitting in his seat, Gohan wasn't sure if he should be glad that they weren't going to be relying on him completely anymore, or upset that they made him leave his peaceful life on Namek to travel here. But the moment that thought crossed him mind, he was stabbed with guilt, thinking of how everyone was living here. Hiding in caves or working until death in camps. Earth needed to be free. Any advantage they could gain towards that goal should be a welcomed one. So, he smiled at the rest of the room and said, "Appreciate the help."

Lunch nodded, acknowledging the comment before moving on. "Capsule Corp managed to build nine prototypes before Dr. Briefs was killed and his daughter taken. All nine of them are at the Skull Valley ship yards. Team three will consist of nine people. Each of you will take one star fighter and pilot it off the yard. This is your escape rout. Get in the plane and fly away! Do not engage the enemy immediately. Leave that to team two. Get the planes, get them away. Fly in different directions, do not come directly back to the base. Once you've put some distance between you and Skull Valley, land the fighter and capsulize it. Then make your way back to base on foot."

Sharpner raised his hand while running the other though his main of blond hair. "What if one of the planes is destroyed in the before we can get to it. Or it doesn't fly or something? If that's them three's escape rout, how are they gonna get out if they for some reason can't take the planes?"

"Any stragglers or other team members who cannot get away via their assigned routs will leave with team one, the same way they came in." Lunch explained.

"Down the drain." Lime snickered.

Everyone laughed.

…

"This really isn't all that bad." Kuririn commented as he and Mai waded their way through the somewhat cramped sewer system that acted as waste drainage for the Skull Valley shipyards.

He and Mai navigated the piping system piloting mobile suits. Mai in her own, Kuririn borrowing Shu's.

"Just remember, we will have to step out of these suits to access the security bypass."

The compound's security system did not have one universal shut off. Instead, each security system -fences, locks, cameras, airspace proximity alerts- all ran independently from one another. Shutting one just meant that you shut off one. The rest continued to function. The most important ones for Mai and Kuririn to deactivate were the airspace alerts and the feces. Shutting down those two would allow the fighters of team two to glide in and engage the enemy, and the soon-to-be pilots of team three to sneak onto the campus.

But those were not the systems Mai went to first. No. First, she shut down the security cameras and motion sensors. Allowing her and Kuririn to move about the compound undetected. -So long as Kuririn kept his ki suppressed and they avoided the security patrols.- Once those were down, then she moved to the airspace and fences.

"Team two, you're a go." She hissed into her radio.

"Rodger that…" Gohan's voice sighed over the channel. "Well I guess we better get this show started."

Leaping from his concealment amongst the jagged rocks surrounding Skull Valley, Gohan took to the air. His ki flaring around him, so as to alert every scouter in the area to his whereabouts. Following his lead, Seventeen did the same -not that his ki was actually detectable. Then Piccolo. Then Tienshinhan. The four of them flew strait for the shipyard's command tower, waved cheerfully at the window, made a circle around the compound, then took off again. Shooting through the air away from the campus, a host of Saiyan warriors hot on their tails.

"Gohan!" Piccolo said, shouting to be heard over the wind. "Try not to show any mercy this time! There are more of them than we've fought before and we can't let them keep getting back up to bother us while we finish off their friends!"

"Keep them from getting back up." Gohan called back. "Got it!"

Seventeen came up beside the Namekian so that only Piccolo would hear him when he commented, "The kid does have a way of interpreting an otherwise clear order, doesn't he."

"He's a pure heart." Piccolo replied. "In any other situation that would be an asset, not a handicap."

"T'ch." Seventeen shrugged. Niether agreeing or disagreeing. Instead he turned to glance back at the enemies behind them before calling to Gohan, "Oi, Hero! What say we stop running and face these apes!"

The party halted their flight and turned around to face the on-coming host of Saiyan warriors. A wall of flesh, and armor, and spiked hair collided with the four Earth warriors. Fists collided with chests, chins, faces, shoulders, armor, and other fists. For a few brief moments, to an on-looker, the fight would have appeared to be nothing than a chaotic mess of limbs. Then someone remembered that they could conduct ki and everyone back up a bit to place some space between themselves and the energy.

Seventeen was the first to close the distance again. Rushing the Saiyan closest to him, ramming his elbow into the other man's throat, then blasting him in the face with a close-range energy wave. The Saiyan hovered in the air for a few moments, one hand over his burned face, the other clutching his injured throat that could now only make strangle croaking sounds. He glared murderously at the man-cyborg.

If his brother-in-law were here, Seventeen was sure the midget would say stupid pun that would make them all groan. "Looks like you struck him speechless!" Seventeen was glad Eighteen's husband was a practical coward and had chosen a part of this mission that would keep him out of the way of the real fighters.

Tien did not rush in as Seventeen did. Instead, he chose to keep his distance from their alien opponents, attacking with his ki and targeting a wider number of them as opposed to just one at a time. Using his Kikoho to fire his ki like a cannon at the enemy. Then, when they scattered, Tien shot each one with his Dodonpa with varying success. Mostly, each bean hit a grazing blow, damaging or even go so far as to create gaps in their armor, but no vital shots. Still, the fight had only just begun and holes in armor were useful advantages.

Piccolo did not attack first. He waited for the enemy to come to him.

Glaring across the space between them, the Namekian allowed a small smirk to grace his lips. "Well, come on then."

Three of the alien warriors fell on him at once. Forgetting their ki in favor of sheer brute force. The three of them formed a triangle around the former Demon King Jr., punching and kicking with an almost feral frenzy. They probably singled him out as the strongest of their little quartet. Of course, they would. Seventeen's energy was not biological in nature and so could neither be sensed nor detected by a scouter. Tien was strong for a human, but not as strong as the Namekian warrior, and Gohan -the real strongest member of their team- Gohan was a gentle soul. Even without the ability to sense ki, it was obvious by his body language that he didn't want to hurt anyone. To the Saiyan way of thinking, that made him weak.

"Gohan! Get your head in the game!" Piccolo snarled through a buffeting store of limbs. He flared his ki, throwing the three attackers back with its sheer power. "Think of all the innocents you'll be saving with this fight!"

"Right." Nodded the younger man. His eyebrows coming down, his attention focusing on the three that were attacking his mentor. "Kame…"

"Oh, look, the kid finally decided to join the party." Seventeen commented as he held a Saiyan in a headlock.

"Hame…" Gohan continued, a glowing light appearing in his joined hands, duped at his side. "HA!"

The wave collided with two of them while almost completely avoiding the third and PIccolo. The two fell a few feet in the air and for one brief fleeting moment Gohan was terrified that he might have actually killed them. But then one of them stirred, his eyes opening and he flew back up to focus all his rage on the hansaiya. The second, taking a moment longer to recover returned to his onslaught on Piccolo.

The battle became a blur of mooting at that point. Everyone having multiple partners. Zipping here and there at a speed that could not be followed by the human eye.

…

"Team three, you're clear!"

"Roger!" Back at the Skull Valley ship yards Lunch clicked off her radio and turned to the rest of her tear, everyone that had volunteered to steal and fly one of the DB/SF-001s that were housed in the shipyards. "Okay, people, we're going in. Keep your feet quiet and your heads down!"

The team of nine consisted of Lunch, Yamcha, Sharpner, Lime, Erasa, Videl, Shu, and then two volunteers from the liberated Orange Star work camp. Videl's former literature professor, Ms. Hamilton, and a former officer of the OSCPD, Officer Niko. Both looked terrified to be walking right back into a Saiyan controlled compound, but they wanted to free their planet of the alien encroachers just as much as everyone else did.

Lunch lead the team through the campus, keeping close to the buildings and the shadows. Even with the security cameras and most ion sensors offline, it never hurt to stay cautious. Her dark hair, normally free falling in brunette cur els was instead pulled back in a ponytail that bounced as she jogged.

The main hangar was the largest building on the compound, housing mostly one-man drop pods but also a fair amount of transport shuttles for supplies or slaves. But that was not their target. The building cast a large shadow and they stuck close to it to avoid notice, but where Lunch was leading them was not into the main hangar, but rather around it to a secondary holding hangar on the opposite side. It was there that the Saiyans housed the DB/SF-001 prototypes developed by Capsule Corp.

Their design was based off of an old Boeing F/A-XX fighter jet but with a few modifications, curtesy of Capsule Corp's genius heiress, Bulam Briefs. She began development of the DB/SFs shortly after Goku dispatched the first Saiyan warrior sent to collect him. His self-proclaimed brother, Raditz. By the time more Saiyans began arriving she and a team of hand-picked Capsule Corp engineers had completed construction of nine working units. Sadly, not a one of them ever got the chance to see combat before it was too late.

Lunch wasn't sure whether or not they would actually work. Yamcha was confident they would. But then again, he had an almost religious conviction ('religious' here means 'belief without proof') that anything made by Bulma would not only work, but be spectacular! If nothing else, the DB/SFs would at least be something the Saiyans had never seen before. If they couldn't match the monsters, then they could at least startle or distract them long enough to give the real fighters more openings to finish them off.

The fighters were exactly where Baba said they'd be. Pushed against a wall in a far corner of the hangar in three neat rows. Nine steely grey planes. All unpainted with the exception of the Capsule Corp logo that was stamped on each of their sides.

"Alright, lets go!" Said Lunch. "One plane to each pilot. Fire up your engines and get out. Do not engage the Saiyans today. The planes are not yet equipped with weapons. You'll only get yourself killed."

"Got it." Videl nodded.

"Alright. Lets go."

The group broke apart, each pilot going to a plane. Yamcha found a disused service ladder to help those not able to fly up into the cockpits. Those that could fly, like himself and Videl hopped in once everyone else was situated. Lunch was the only one to hang back. Her plane the only one that remind vacant out of the nine.

"Remember!" She shouted up at the others. "Don't fly directly back to base! That will lead them right to us! You were each given a capsule before he left. Fly somewhere else, land your plane and capsulize it. Then make your way back on foot."

"Right, right." Yamcha yawned. "Lets get going."

"We understand." Ms. Hamilton nodded, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and turning her attention to study the controls.

She was the first one to figure out how to seal the cockpit hatch. Shu was the second. Erasa third. Yamcha and Lime were the last two to figure out how to close their own cockpits. Sharpner was the first one out the hangar.

…

Seventeen was grappling with two of them. Tien had one by the ankle and spun him around to collide with another. Three were on Piccolo but he was holding his own. Four dog-piled on Gohan in an attempt to bring him down.

Then someone shouted, "Oi! Look over there!"

All other Saiyans followed their comrades pointing finger back towards the base where, just visible in the distance was a tiny pin-prick of light lifting off from the base. Then another. Then a third. The DB/SF-001s. Team three got them!

"All this was a distraction!" Another snarled.

The group of eleven Saiyan guards split in two. Five flew back to the ship yards, six stayed behind to continue the fight.

"Well, so much for that." Commented Seventeen, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Damn it, Lunch!" Tien growled, more to himself than to anyone else. He also took off, heading back towards Skull Valley, leaving his team members behind.

…

The first three planes took off without much fuss. Things seemed to be going smoothly. Good. Lunch turned her attention from the DB/SFs to the stockpile of crates that was stacked next to their little corner of the hangar. Crates of all the planes' munitions.

Each of the pilots was given one capsule to carry their ship. But Lunch brought two. One for her plane. The other for the weapons for the planes. After all, what good were fighter jets without any guns?

Out the corner of her eye, Lunch thought she saw one of the planes swerve and roll at an odd angle and glanced up to see that some of the Saiyans have returned.

"Shit!" She muttered. Running a hand through her dark hair. She reached for her radio, then the feather she carried on her at all times. Thumbing the radio she shouted, "The Saiyans are back and giving us trouble, what's going on, team two!?"

Without waiting for a reply, Lunch ticked the feather under her nose until it caused her to sneeze. It was the more reckless and violent Launch who now glared at the radio as Seventeen's voice informed her, "They caught on that we're a diversion. Split into two groups. Tien's backin' you up!"

"Keep goin'!" She shouted to the other planes still on the ground. "Take off! Take off! Take off! Get the fuck outta here and get clear!"

In the skies above Skull Valley the planes that were already in the air were engaged in an ariel dogfight without the fight. The pilots bobbed, and wove, and swerved in their efforts to avoid their alien attackers.

"Do a barrel roll!" Shu shouted over his radio at Ms. Hamilton.

Scanning his own instruments, Shu took an inventory of what small weapons systems the plane had already installed. Lunch said that they weren't yet armed. But all fighters had at least one built-in weapon that only needed power, not ammo. Or at least, that's the way if was with the combat mobile suits he and Mai piloted. He didn't have quite as much experience with planes. But still the principal should hold. According to the plane's computer, he had precisely three short range taser bombs. Shu didn't exactly know what those were, but if it was a weapon, he was willing to try it.

Pulling up on the pilotstick, he climbed in altitude until he was above one of the Saiyans, then dropped one of the taser bombs. It detonated a little bit above him, jolting the warrior slightly, but other side leaving him unharmed. Irritated, but unharmed. Not a very effective weapon. No wonder it had been left in the plane.

"Use bombs wisely, fox!" Lime's voice crackled over the radio. Shu rolled his eyes at the reference, executing a barrel roll to avoid the enrages alien's counter attack.

"Stop fucking around and get away!" Launch shouted over the radio.

Out of nowhere a flash of ki streaked by Sharpner's cockpit, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. But the blast wasn't aimed at him. The attack went careening through the air and connected to a Saiyan attacking Officer Niko's plane. It struck the warrior in the back, breaking through the tough space-armor and burning the already battle-scared flesh of his back.

The alien turned to face his new attack, as did Sharpner and Niko. Craining their necks to see who had just arrived to save the day.

Tien drifted into view. His hands up in front of his face forming the triangle shape of his Kikoho -his Tri-beam.

Snarling in rage, his eyes whited out from fury, the Saiyan abandoned the planes to charge the triclops.

On the ground, the blond fem fatal stood watching the ariel battle unfold. Launch couldn't help but give a slight smile when Tien appeared on the scene. He didn't say much like the other fighters and members of Goku's former entourage. But he was the that she knew she could always count on in a pinch.

She watched him dodge the Saiyan 'superman punch', use the alien's forward momentum to swing the monster around and send him flying back the way he came. With the Saiyan's back to him again, Tien once again raised his hands to his face, forming the signature triangle. "Kikoho!"

With the second shot, aimed directly where the first one hit, the gap in the armor, the exposed skin of his back, the alien finally fell. Crashing to the ground not far from where Launch stood. Burnt out and unmoving. Dead. One down. Four to go.

But Tien didn't go for them. Not yet. He caught sight of Launch, still dirt-side and landed next to her. "What are you still doing here!?"

She brushed a strand of golden hair back behind her ear and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back into the hangar and -coincidentally- out of the way of a ki blast that was aimed his way. Launch pointed to the crates of ammunition. "We need to get this too. What good are weapons if ya ain't got not bullets for 'em? Don't worry about me, babe, I know what I'm doin'. But you, you gotta watch that Kikoho of yours. Don't forget if you use it to much you could-"

"I know." He cut her off. "Just hurry it up! I'll feel better knowing you're saf-"

Tien cut himself off abruptly, his eyes darting up to the roof of the hangar, his ki senses tingling. The triclops grabbed Launch and hurled both of them to the ground, rolling several feet away just in time to avoid another blast of ki as it tore through the roof.

It didn't hit them, but it did hit the plane.

Tien shoved the rubble off them. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but- the plane!"

He took a quick assessing glance at the now mangled DB/SF-001. "You'll have to take team one's escape rout now. Get to Kuririn and get out!"

Tien leapt back into the air to rejoin the battle with the remaining four warriors.

Launch knew that her main method of escape was gone. But before she went running to hide and flee through the swedes she still had a job to do. The other that did manage to get away with their planes interacted would need the munitions. No matter what else happened or came falling out of the sky at her, she had to get those weapons.

Now that there was not need to save one capsule for a plane, it was easier to compress it all. Splitting the load between two capsules instead of shoving everything into one.

Above her, two planes managed to get away. She wasn't sure who the pilots were, but that was two less people to worry about. Five were still flitting around, looking for an opening to get away without a Saiyan warrior hot on their train and one looked like it was actually trying to engage the aliens even without any weapons. Stupid. Whoever was flying should just try and get away like the others. Follow the plan.

The weapons finally stowed and tucked safely into her pocket, Launch drew her sidearm -not that it would do her any good against Saiyans- and made a B-line for team one's escape rout, no longer bothering to be stealthy about it. Purposeful and quiet was the brunette's shtick anyway. She preferred to do things with a bang.

On her way out, Launch stopped by the control tower and set a couple of bombs that would have gone into her her plane by the base of the tower. The plane might be destroyed, but the bombs could still serve their purpose. Once she was a moderately safe distance away, Launch turned around and fired her gun at one of them. It exploded in a brilliant flash, as did the two beside it, and the ones beside those, and the ones beside those. Like pyrotechnic dominos. There was the groan of strained support beams, then the tower began to lean. Then it began to fall.

Launch didn't stop to watch the full results. As soon as it started to lean, she ran. Jumping through the hatch where Kuririn and Mai waited just inside to pick-up whoever else couldn't get out. She landed ankle-deep in foul smelling sludge, covered her head with her arms and listened to the sound of the building crashing down on top of them.

"Was that really necessary?" Mai asked once the rumbling stopped and the dust settled.

Launch just smiled at her, blond ponytail askew. "Explosions are good for the soul."

…

A short ki blast exploded in Gohan's face. He grit his teeth in frustration and glared at his opponents. This was tedious. He liked to fight. The rush of adrenaline. Bodies in motion. Ki flaring hot in his veins. Fighting was great! But this wasn't really fighting. Four on one. Yes, he could handle it. That wasn't the issue here. The issue was that this was not a 'fight' this was being ganged up on.

He had four. Piccolo and Seventeen each had one.

Then a sound pulled him from his thoughts. It distracted his opponents too.

A low rumbling sound. Low, but full of base. The kind of sound you didn't so much hear as feel in your chest. Everyone paused just long enough to look back in the direction of the ship yards. Just in time to see the tall control tower come crashing down.

"What in the world…?" Muttered Seventeen.

"The tower!" Exclaimed one of the Saiyans. He turned back to face Gohan. "Rebel scum! You'll pay for that!"

"Put it on our tab!" Piccolo retorted, landing a solid kick to his face, sending the warrior careening through the air. "You're wide open."

The Saiyan might have stopped himself had Seventeen not beaten him to it. Intercepting the warrior's trajectory and landing a two-fisted punch on his back, sending the alien plummeting down to the ground. A cloud of dust and debris flared up around him. Piccolo and Seventeen met eyes and nodded. Then, together they finished him off.

"Makankōsappō!"

"Kiai!"

One down. Five to go.

Gohan looked down at the dead Saiyan, then back up at those still remaining. His eyes looked past them, focusing instead on the shipyards beyond. He didn't have the stomach for killing. He would be better suited to helping the others escape with the planes. That was what they came here for, right? The DB/SF-001 planes.

…

Tien would never admit it to her face, but Launch was right, the more he used the Kikoho, the weaker he became. It was a fiercely powerful attack, but its usage was limited and it to blasts of it to kill one Saiyan. Maybe if one of the others decided to come back with him to protect the planes things wouldn't be so difficult. But it was just him. He needed to shift paradigms. Killing Saiyans was not the objective here. The objective was to make sure the planes got away safely. That meant running interference, not launching lethal attacks.

He rammed his shoulder into one warrior who was grabbing at the tail of Yamcha's plane. Knocking the alien away and allowing his com raid to get clear. Another had latched himself to the wing of Lime's plane. Tien went sailing towards him, one foot outstretched to kick the man squarely in the face. His heel impacting the Saiyan's nose. Lime got away.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a BOOM rumbled up from the ground. Then another, and another, and another. Launch. He should have known the moment he saw that she was no longer brunette, but rather the blond that she wouldn't just run to safety like a good girl. On know. She had to show him that she was large and in charge. What better way to do that than a couple parting explosions. But just what was she trying to blow… up-?

That question was answered very quickly when the ship yard's control tower began to lean to one side, then fall completely.

And, as fortune would have it, a part of the tower was lucky enough to fall on one of the Saiyans. It wouldn't kill him. Tien was no fool. Even if he hadn't been able to sense the alien's energy, he knew better than to think a mere building falling on him could kill a Saiyan. If one blast from his Kikoho wasn't enough then a building would be like a love-tap.

Still, it meant that one of the four was out of the way for a few minutes. Just enough for Erasa's plane to get away.

But Tien didn't have time to celebrate. Another one was already headed for Shu's plane, a ball of ki gathering in his hand. The fox pilot had finally given up on trying to do anything with the near useless bombs equipped to his plane and was sailing on an exit vector. Tien flew up, placing himself between the alien and the fox's plane. But the Saiyan swung his arm around him, releasing the blast which shot strait at Shu.

"Shit!" He swore, turning his back on the warrior to try and intercept the energy blast. But he couldn't quite close the gap fast enough and the ball of ki impacted the tail of the plane. "Shit!"

The tail was a wreck but the rest of the plane was still in one piece, along with its pilot. It was falling in a tail-spin but Shu was alive. Tien dove to try and pull his com raid from the cockpit -some part of the back of his mind idly wondering why he didn't just eject. Bulma must have built the things with emergency eject seats or something. It didn't seem like the thing she would forget.

But the same Saiyan that shot it down grabbed him by the ankle, pulling Tien out of his dive and swinging him around and around before letting him loose. The triclops went sailing through the air until he was hit by another Saiyan and went plummeting to impact the collapsed tower.

Shu's plane crashed in a blaze of fire and he never saw anything eject, or a parachute open. Shu was dead.

"You bastards!" Tien had never really be particularly fond of the fox. He was one of Pilaf's minions before the occupation, that technically made him an antagonist. But he didn't dislike him either. Tien's feeling towards his now late comraid were ambivalent at best. But he was still one of them. A rebel against the Saiyan oppression, that made them brothers in a common cause and they had just killed him. Killed his brother in arms. Tien brought his hands up, once again forming the signature triangle and shouted, "Kikoho!"

It struck the Saiyan he was aiming for in the face. One solid blow. Not on armor but flesh. The Saiyan dropped to the ground. That was two down. Three to go.

Tien was feeling winded now. His over usage of the Kikoho taking its toll. But there were still two planes that needed to get away. He punched one off of Sharpner's wing and the teen didn't wast any time. Kicking up the engines she shot away from the base faster than you can say 'light speed'.

The three remaining Saiyans all turned their attention to Videl. The last plane.

He was not looking forward to this. Three on one. Not fun odds. Especially not when most of his body was feeling like deadweight and all he wanted to do was et a drink of water and take a nap. But he had a mission to do and he wasn't gonna quit until it was done. Tien placed himself between Videl's plane and the hostile warriors.

Then, to his great relief, the cavalry arrived.

"Nyoi-bo, extend!" The bright red poll came careening downward to strike one Saiyan in the eye. Then made a wide sweep to clear the other two out of the way.

Gohan appeared on the scene and for one brief moment, Tien thought he was looking at Goku. Dressed in the iconic orange dogi, his dark hair swaying in the wind, wielding the Power Pole like it was an extension of his own arm. he was so much like his father.

The hansaiya turned around to face Videl in her plane. "Go!"

And that was everyone. Everyone who survived got away. Hopefully Launch got away too.

They had come expecting to get nine planes, but would be taking home only seven. Still this mission wasn't a defeat. Tien wouldn't call it a glorious win, but they hadn't lost.

…

Everyone arrived back at the base at different times. The first to arrive were the warriors who could fly. Gohan helping Tienshinhan -since he used up so much energy during the mission-, Seventeen, and Piccolo. Then team one arrived with Launch in tow. They said their hellos and expressed how glad they all were that everyone was alright. Tien had the unfortunate duty of informing Launch that they lost another plane and a pilot. There was a moment of sober silence. Then Launch, Kuririn and Mai excused themselves and ran strait to the showers.

Of the pilots, Videl was the first to return to base. Then Yamcha. Sharpner and Erasa arrived almost together. Team one was out of the showers by the time Lime arrived and they congratulated her on a mission well done. It was the first real action she saw since joining their group. Officer Niko and Ms. Hamilton were the last to return. Niko promptly passed his capsule off to Lunch -once again brunette- and informed her that he was wasn't cut out for this sort of thing.

Then Mai, searching the common area, asked, "Where's Shu?"

The room went silent.

A heavy stone of for boding sank into Mai's stomach. She was no fool. But still, she asked, "Is he just not back yet? Maybe he just got lost on his way back to the base."

"Mai…" Tien began. "I'm sorry but… He didn't get away."

"W-what are you talking about? Of course he got away." She insisted. "Shu's one of the best pilots I know. There's no way Niko could get away but not Shu!"

"He was trying to engage the enemy without any weapons and…"

"Your wrong!" She snarled suddenly, surprising even herself. She and Shu had been partners for almost two decades now. Serving under Emperor Pilaf side-by-side. They had been together almost all her adult life. In fact, she was hard pressed to remember a time when the fox wasn't by her side. "He can't be…"

Over forty years old and she was so stupid to not realize just how close she had gotten to him. Mai felt a pressure behind her eyes and reached a hand up to find that they were wet. She was crying. But she never cried!

"Excuse me." She ran from the common area. Passing Pilaf on her way out.

"Hey! Watch it, Mai!" The diminutive emperor shouted after her. He walked into the common room. "What's her problem? Hey, where's Shu?"


	19. The Support

Bulma had to admit, to spite her earlier protests in coming here and her powerful dislike of her host, Gyu was a lovely planet. The city in which Tarble lived, the Lower Kingdom, was a desert paradise. Buildings built right up on the river's edge so that one could dangle their feet out the window on the first floor and dip their toes in the water.

Trunks and Goten seemed to be enjoying themselves. There were a few bumps the first few days when it came to meal time. The two hansaiya boys not understanding the dietary restrictions the Gyujin imposed upon themselves. Out of respect for their hosts -more so Gure than Tarble- Bulma instructed them to observe the same rules during family meal time. It wasn't fair for them to partake of both meat and dairy while their hosts ate only dairy for that meal.

Sitting on the window sill, Bulma swirled the water with her feet, sending spirals down the river Khanon. She thought about Chichi and how worried she must be about Goten. If their places were reversed and it was Chichi who had gone off with the boys, Bulma was sure she would be sick with worry. The difference between them, though, was that Bulma would find a way to get to them. She was a problem solver. Chichi, on the other hand, dwelled in her worries and anxieties. Wrapped herself up in them like a blanket over her head, a blanket that no solutions could penetrate. When Chichi worried, things didn't get solved, they just got exasperated.

But, there were worse places she and the boys could have ended up. Gyu wasn't so bad. Warm weather. Clear skies. A nice airy climate. Water-front views. Polite hosts. The method in which they arrived might have been distasteful, but Bulma had to admit that she and her son were as safe here as they were on Namek. Possibly more so, since Tarble was the Archduke of the Saiyan monarchy. The brother of the King. Such statues afforded him the privileges of privacy and to bert alone.

They didn't have to worry about any Saiyans coming to threaten her or the boys.

…

Borgos spent a great deal of time thinking about what Fasha said. He didn't mention any of it to his brother. Considering the state Toteppo was in, he probably would have put his armor on and tried to storm the palace right then and there. No. Borgos did not share, but he did think.

He thought about Fasha's revaluation that there was a hansaiya within the House Vegeta. That he was in the company of the King's brother, Archduke Tarble. Whether or not Tarble was the actual father was still open to debate. But that was immaterial at the moment. The detail that was important was that he was a member of the ruling House. With the right amount of support, he would have just as legitimate claim to the Cairngrom Throne as Tarble did, or even Vegeta himself.

Borgos left on a new purge mission not long after returning from his conversation with Fasha. He needed to put some distance between himself and the situation on Vegeta-sei. Then he realized that the rout to the planet they were assigned took him close to Gyu, the Archduke's home planet. It was a little out of his way, but he could make it to Gyu and back to the mission with the fuel he had. Borgos reported engine trouble to his squad leader so that his tardiness would be expected. Then he diverted off course, heading for Gyu.

The landing docks of the Lower Kingdom were set a ways away from the city. Long, flat concrete slabs for the for the shuttles or carriers that needed a solid surface for take off and landing, and then a wide open area of soft powdery sand for drop pods. The sand was so light and fine, in fact, that it splashed almost like water when Borgos' pod came plummeting down. He ran the sub-thrusters for a few minutes to raise the hatch enough above the surface of the sand to open it.

Two Gyujin port attendants rushed up, their squat bodies only two thirds the height of the pod. They attempted to help the mammoth sized Saiyan out of his pod before moving it out of the sand dock and into a hangar.

"Where can I find the home of Tarble son of Vegeta, Archduke of the Saiyan monarchy?" Asked Borgos after he had payed his pod's docking fee.

The two aliens exchanged confused glances. Then one of them guessed, "Tarble ben Malpe."

"Ah!" Nodded the other one. "The husband of Gure-kohen lives along the river. Third house down from the Wind Tower."

Borgos nodded and flew off in the direction they pointed.

Their instructions weren't really all that helpful, as it turned out. Borgos had no idea what the Wind Tower was. There were no buildings he could see that seemed especially tall compared to the others. Nothing the Saiyan would consider a 'tower'. There was an oddly constructed system of what looked almost like organ pipes and flute tubes. But not a tower. But like heck was Borgos gonna stop and ask directions, again. That was something Fasha would do. But Fasha was still on leave on Vegeta-sei. Borgos was not the asking directions type. Instead he tapped the side of his scouter, scanning for any ki signatures at a level comparable to that of a Saiyan's.

To his surprise he found not one, or two, but three. All in the same location. The third house down from the odd conglomerate of pipes and tubes.

Borgos landed just outside of what he assumed was the main gate. One did not simple barge in on the home of the King's brother. Even if he did live on a planet far from the capitol with creatures not of their kind. Though he wasn't used to being so… polite, Borgos raised a fist and rapped gently three times on the gate.

There was a long moment in which nothing happened.

Then a panel slid open at what was probably eye-level for the Gyujin, but to Borgos it only came up to his big beefy knee. There was the audible sound of a creature gulping as the Gyujin that answered probably realized that he or she was dealing with a being that could destroy them with the flick of a wrist. Borgos crouched down to peek through the open panel.

"This is the residence of Gure-kohen." Said the gatekeeper, her large round eyes made all the wider at the sight of the warrior in full purge armor. "Do you have business within?"

"I'm looking for Archduke Tarble." Then he remembered the Gyujin calling the Archduke by another title. "Uh… ben Malpe?"

"And is the master's husband expecting you?" She asked.

"No." He admitted. "But it's a matter of great importance to both him and the monarchy."

There was a beat of silence. Then, "I'll see if he's in."

Borgos already knew the Archduke was in. His scouter told him as much.

…

Goten pounced on Trunks rather like a dog pouncing on the unsuspecting but no less vicious cat. The two boys then began a spirited match of roll-around-the-floor-punching-each-other-in-the-face. It wasn't quite wrestling. But it was just to rough to be called roughhousing. They laughed happily together as each tried to brutalize the other. Their sounds of violent merriment filling the open courtyard of Gure's estate.

Tarble hung in the doorway, standing neither outside nor inside, and watched the boys play.

He and Vegeta-niisan rarely ever played like that. Tarble's natural distain for violence aside, the age difference between them was to grate to allow for Niisan to lower himself -figuratively and literally- to rolling around on the floor with his baby brother. Most of their games were strategy based. Hunting games like Seek & Hide, or stealth games like don't-get-caught-nabbing-food-from-the-kitchens-between-meals. But they never rolled around on the floor rearranging each other's features. While Tarble had no interest in it, he did have to admit, the boys looked like they were enjoying themselves. Tarble felt a slight ache in his chest which he refused to admit might be longing to have that kind of relationship with his brother.

Gure came up beside him. Silently, she took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. They stood like that for a moment or two. Just observing the kids try to kill each other with glee.

Then she said, "It is nice to hear children laughing in this house."

Tarble nodded his agreement, mostly because he wasn't really sure how else to respond.

"I never thought I would hear that sound in my home. I am glad Bulma-san decided to come live with us." She continued. "I am not pleased with your motives, however."

Tarble crossed his arms over his chest. He expected this conversation. The moment he decided to place his nephew on the throne, Tarble knew his mate would disapprove. Gure believed that it was better for him to forget the slights done to him by his father and the culture he perpetuated and move on. Acknowledge that he was wronged by his father and his people, but not dwell on them, not let them consume him. Move forward with his life here on Gyu with her.

But Tarble couldn't just let it go. Perhaps that was his Saiyan blood showing through. He was stubborn and he held grudges. He would never forget that he was cast out by his people, thrown away by his father. For no other reason than he preferred to avoid physical violence. And, much like the Saiyans that had cast him out, Tarble wanted to destroy those who had wronged him. To tear down his father's world and build a new one with a new King. One who wouldn't throw away half-breeds, counter culturalists, or deviants.

"Why should my motives matter?" He asked her. "If you're happy to have children in the house, finally."

"It matters, Tarble." Insisted Gure. "History will judge you not just on what you achieve, but also why you did it in the first place. Hamesh judges the same way. But more than that, I know what you plan for these children, and I worry for them because of it. I'm happy to finally have children here because I know we'll never have any of our own. But I'm also worried because you will be placing those children in great danger if you continue with this plan of yours. Trunks will be a rallying point for all those like yourself. Cast-offs from your father's society. But because of that, he will also become a target for those who supported your father and want to keep things the way they are."

Bulma-neesan said something similar, though in fewer words, when he first asked her and Trunks to come with him. Tarble was so sure he's be able to inapt the switch smoothly and painlessly. It certainly felt like it would be easy when the idea first occurred to him. But now that he actually had the boy and could move forward with his plan, Tarble came to realize that he didn't really have a plan at all. Just an idea, a hope, and a dream.

He looked down at the sandstones of the courtyard. "You know I don't want any harm to come to him either, right? I hope I don't look like a monster in your eyes, my love. I just… I'm just so tired of the way things are."

She stood on the tips of her toes to kiss his forehead chastely. "I know you're a good man. You're just angry and a little confused. I wish you would let go of your anger. I also wish you had never gone to see your father's funeral, I knew it would bring you no peace. But, I also know that you are a Saiyan in your bones and you can't let your anger go. Its hard for your kind to move on. I can only pray to Hamesh for your safety and the safety of the children and hope that his hand will guide to your peace."

They would never agree, but she would not hinder him either. It was the most he could ask for from her. Tarble wrapped his arms around her, leaning down for a real kiss, not the little chase pecks she was more comfortable to showering him with outside their private rooms. He didn't get his kiss, however. Before their lips could touch, a servant interrupted them, cleaning his throughout awkwardly.

"Sorry to disturb you, Gure-kohen, Tarble be Malpe." He nodded to each of them. "But there is a large and rather intimidating Saiyan outside asking for ben Malpe and I don't think he'll go away."

"A Saiyan?" Gure looked concerned.

"I'll take care of it." Tarble assured her. "Let him in and show him to one of the drawing rooms. Uh, make it the one Gure was talking about remodeling."

…

Borgos was shown into what might have been a nice room once upon a time. At them moment, however, it was a mess.

All the furniture was pushed to one side of the room. The floor and windows were covered in plastic. A ladder was folded off to one side, surrounded by unopened can's of paint. Overall, the room looked like it was going through a mild renovation. In the back of his mind, Borgos debated whether or not he should be insulted or find it amusing that this was where they decided he should wait. Did they really think of disdainfully of him? Or did they just know that when two Saiyans met, things tended to get broken. Collateral damage and what have you.

A door opened on the opposite side of the room.

To be completely honest, Borgos wasn't sure what he was expecting when he met the Archduke. He'd never really seen pictures of the man. He'd seen pictures of his elder brother, the current King Vegeta, but not Tarble. He knew that the Archduke was the second son of the later King Vegeta but had been cast out for the unforgivable crime of being a pacifist. So, he expected something like a skinnier version of the young King. High forehead. Prominent widow's peak. Tsurime eyes. What walked through the door, however, was not what he expected.

A Saiyan, like himself, but wearing native clothes, his tail dangling casually behind him where anyone could just walk up and grab it. He still had the tsurime eyes of House Vegeta, but he was shorter than Borgos expected. His hair spiked up as almost all Saiyan hair did, but it was cut even and level. There was not widow's peak cutting through his forehead, but instead a single thick strand of hair like bangs.

"I am the Archduke Tarble." He said. "What business do you have with me, soldier?"

Borgos wasn't sire what he was supposed to say or do. He'd never dealt with royalty before. At least, not the royalty of his own people. He's destroyed the royal families of half a dozen worlds. But such experiences wouldn't help him in this situation. "I…" He stammered, unsure how to explain himself. "I've come to see the Prince."

The Archduke raised an eyebrow. "I am no longer a Prince." He said. "Did you not hear? My title is now Archduke. The monarchy has no Prince."

Of course he wouldn't admit to harboring a hansaiya. Borgos kicked himself in the head for being so foolishly forward. He spent enough time listening to know that that was not the way you went about discussing sensitive subjects. He began again, "I have a friend, Your Excellency. She had a lover. Her lover gave her a child. But the lever was human, not Saiyan. The child was killed. I also have a brother. He had a lover. The lover came down with child. But the lover was again human, not Saiyan. She was killed while still carrying. I have no lover and so am safe from knowing their pain. But I still see it. I've heard a rumor, Your Excellency. A rumor of a hansaiya within the House Vegeta. I can't help but wonder, if a hansaiya were also a Vegeta, would a hansaiya have a claim to the throne? Could a hansaiya King make it so that no other has to experience the pain of my friend or my brother? I've come to see the Half-Blood Prince for myself."

The Archduke did not budge. "You say it was just a rumor. What makes you think such a Prince actually exists?"

"That is why I have come."

"Why do you think he's here?"

"Because this is the only place I can think of where a hansaiya Prince could both remain safely hidden while still being groomed to take the throne."

The Archduke paused, as if considering. "Even is such a Prince existed, and I'm not saying one does, he would need others to support his claim to the Cairngrom Throne."

Without missing a beat, Borgos answered, "I can think of three already who would welcome such a King and fight for him. Give me time and I'm sure I can find others. I know how to watch and listen."

"Then go and find these supporters you are so sure exist and if such a Prince does exist, maybe we can place him on the throne together."

Borgos nodded. It was as much a confirmation that the hansaiya-Vegeta was real and was here. "I will, Your Excellency, and together we will place a hansaiya on the Cairngrom Throne."


	20. The Earthlings' Ultimatum

Lunch stood in the hangar, watching Mai tinker with one of the planes. She had been spending a lot of time in the hangar since the last mission, the one Shu did not return from. Working on the planes, all seven of them. Calibrating, balancing, tightening, tuning, changing, any and every kind of maintenance a person could do on a vehicle that hadn't been in use for almost a decade. This particular time, Lunch found her in one of the cockpits, scrutinizing the pilot's seat. 

"Hey there." Lunch climbed up the ladder and rapped gently on the plane's nose. 

Mai did not look up from her work. But she did reply, "You need me for something?"

"No." Lunch shook her head, though she knew the other woman wouldn't see the action. "I just wanted to see how you're doing. You've been spending a lot of time in here." A pause. "What are you working on?"

"Emergency ejector seats." Mai replied, her voice flat, even, devoid of feel. But the fact that it was so even and clear told Lunch much more than if she had sobbed. 

"You think Shu would still be alive right now if the plane had been properly tuned?"

This time there was a slight sob, but it was quickly stifled in a caught. "These things have been sitting in a hangar, unused and unmaintained, for eight years. It was stupid to take them out without being looked per first. Did you know that the altimeter was miscalibrated on one? On another I found couple of belts misaligned. There was an engine jam on one, probably caused whenever whoever was flying it tried to land. And on all of them the ejector seats failed."

"Well, I'm glad that you're looking at them for us." Lunch tried a reassuring smile. 

Mai didn't see it, he head was still stuck under the seat. "I just keep thinking that if the seat was working, maybe Shu would have made it. I don't want to louse anyone else." 

"We've lost so many…" Lunch muttered, thinking about the wall and how the list keeps growing, with at least one more added to it after every mission. She understood Mai's sentiments. Lunch didn't want to louse anyone else either. But, sadly, she knew that they were going to louse more before it was all over, the Saiyans gone, their planet theirs again. The key was to make sure they didn't louse as many as they could louse. To minimize their losses. It was good Mai was working on the planes so thoroughly. Still… she was working out of grief. "Just don't strain yourself, okay. I'll be here if you wanna talk." 

"Will do."

Lunch knew she wouldn't. She turned to leave. "By the way, after you're done with that, maybe you can give Yamcha and Sharpner a hand painting them."

"What?" For the first time in the conversation Mai pulled herself out of the cockpit to look at the other woman. 

"Yamcha thought we should paint the planes." She explained. "Since there are seven of them he decided orange and red. And instead of number they should have stars. The seven Dragon Fighters."

…

Gohan was sitting outside with Videl when Dende came up to them. 

He was a little surprised. The young sorcerer hadn't initiated a conversation with him since before they even left Namek. Not since Gohan rejected his proposal, in fact. The hansaiya stared up at him at a bit of a loss. "Hey."

"Hey." Dende replied, sounding sober and subdued, almost somber. "Can we talk."

Gohan and Videl exchanged a look. Then Gohan set down the water cup and stood. "Of course!"

With a nod Dende lead the hansaiya away from the river and on a walk through the narrow trails of Dragon Rock. To spite the Namekian sorcerer's request, he did not say a word and Gohan did not press him. He knew Dende would speak when he was ready. There was no need to pester him. Their wandering lead them to the rebel's memorial wall. Some new names had been added to it since the last time Gohan had seen it. The addition of Shu's name was to be expected. But there was also Hercule Satan, Videl's father. She mentioned that she just recently learned he died. 

They paused at the wall, dithering. Shuffling their feet and shifting their weight awkwardly. 

Then Dende suddenly blurted out, "I wanna go home!"

Gohan stared at him blankly. It was Dende who volunteered to come here in the first place. Kuririn and Yamcha came for Gohan, but he refused. It was only after Dende announced his intention to come to Earth and help with the rebel movement that the hansaiya changed his mind. Gohan wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Dende. And now Dende wanted to turn around and go home. Gohan found himself suddenly annoyed. 

It was true, he hadn't wanted to come here in the first place. He didn't want to leave his serene home on Namek. Or leave his mother and Bulma unprotected. But now that he was here, now that he'd met the people here, seen how they lived, what they were fighting against, and what they were fighting for… He didn't want to go. He had water brothers here. Kuririn and Yamcha shared water with them back on Namek. But since coming to Earth Gohan began sharing water with Videl too. Now he had three water brothers here and he wasn't going to leave them now knowing what they faced. His mother and Bulma were safe on Namek. His other brothers here were not.

"We can't go home." Gohan replied, soberly. 

Dende avoided eye-contact as he continued. "Look, you were right, okay. This is dangerous. Real danger. Not anything like what we consider 'dangerous' back home, but real and present danger. I was stupid to offer to come here. You were right. I should have listened to you. The only reason I asked to come here in the first place was because of you!"

Gohan knew that. But he didn't know what to say. They couldn't just pack up and go home. Aside from the fact that they were to heavily invested in this now, they didn't have a ship anymore. The shutter that brought them here from Namek wasn't in their possession anymore, not since they landed. None of them had a capsule on them to compress the ship into. Since it couldn't be capsulized, it was left abandoned where it landed. The Saiyans who tracked their entry likely found it and destroyed it. Even if they could extricate themselves from the rebellion it wouldn't matter, they didn't have a means of getting home. 

Instead of reminding Dende of all of this, however, Gohan asked, "What brought this on?"

Dende hesitated a moment. Unsure of how to answer. Then, reluctantly said, "I knew people were dying here even before we left home. I still knew people were dying here even after we arrived. Videl told me about her father and I've seen the names on this wall…" He ran a green hand over the rock face, tracing the names of people he'd only ever heard of but never met and would never meet in this life. "But I didn't know these people. I know other knew them, and I know they died, and I know that's sad. But it didn't bother me because I did not know them. They were just names. But this time… this time… I knew Shu. I spoke with him! Healed his scrapes and listened to his complaints and his joke. We were not water brothers, but he was the first person on this wall that I knew personally." 

Gohan began to imagine an inkling of understanding. 

"I know he wasn't a powerful warrior like you, or Piccolo, or Eighteen." He continued. "He wasn't strong and didn't stand a chance against the Saiyans. But neither do a lot of people here. Other people who I have spoken to, shared stories with, laughed with. Shu wasn't powerful, but he wasn't dumb either and he was a fighter! If he could be killed, then what's to stop them from killing all of you? Everyone I've come to know. You could all die! I don't want- I just- Gohan, I'm scared!"

Unable to think of anything to say to that, Gohan did the only other thing that seemed to make sense to him at the moment. He closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around his water brother in a comforting hug. Dende tried to wriggle out of it, still uncomfortable with the physical closeness after his rejection. But Gohan held firm and did not budge. Sometimes a person just needed to be hugged, even if they didn't think they did at the time. 

"I know its scary." He said, speaking into Dende's smooth green forehead. "You've never lost anyone before and so the possibility is terrifying. But Dende, death isn't something that's unique to Earth. You can't just run away from it. Its everywhere. I've seen it. Before I came to live on Namek..." 

And for some reason, Gohan couldn't help but smile. He was reminded of a conversation he had with Piccolo only a few weeks ago. Only a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Back when he first rejected Dende's proposal. Even though it placed a strain on their friendship, Piccolo was happy for him. Back then the worst problem he had to deal with was a romantic issue. Piccolo reminded him of that. But before that he had to deal with much, much worse. Being ripped from his home. Imprisoned on an alien planet. His feather's death. Escape from prison. Hiding out on and adjusting to a new alien planet. His mother's pregnancy. Bulma's arrival. Getting used to his paternal grandfather whom he'd just met… 

Now it seemed like he was thrown back into that kind of life. Having to deal with that kind of danger and those kinds of problems. But unlike before, Gohan wasn't scared. Like his dad said all those years ago. The last words he spoke to his son. 

"It'll be okay."

Dende pushed away from him. "You don't know that! You can't know that!"

Still smiling, Gohan nodded. "You're right. I can't know that for sure. But I have conference. I've been through terrible things before and it came out alright. Not perfect. But alright. I got through it then. You'll get through this now. Now lets go back. I don't know if you know yet, but Videl and I are now water brothers. If you haven't shared water with anyone else here yet, I would like you to share water with her."

Gohan tugged on Dende's arm, trying to pull him back in the direction of the river. But the sorcerer refused to budge. "I just don't want anyone else I know to die."

"I can't guarantee that they won't, Dende." Gohan admitted with a defeated sigh. "All I can promos you is that, if you survive, a better life will be waiting for you at the end."

"You sound like you actually believe that." He commented. "Like you actually believe in what they're fighting for here."

Gohan paused for a moment. When he originally came here, it wasn't to serve the greater good or free his people from the slavery of the Saiyans. It was just to keep Dende safe while he worked out his issues in the worst way possible. Suffering from a broken heart? Go to war. Now Dende realized that he had bitten off more than he could chew and was ready to go home, but Gohan was the one that wanted to stay. The reason for that was… it was because… "Yeah. I guess I do."

…

Raisue banged his fist on the table, startling Mr. Popo and sending his wine glass clattering to the floor where it shattered. Days. It was several days now since those Earthling worms who dared call themselves a rebellion destroyed one of his shipyards and stole the monarchy's property. Days since they made a fool of him and the Saiyan race that ruled them. His warriors shamed by their failure to prevent the attack, theft and destruction. 

But that wasn't what Raisu was so frustrated about at this moment. No. It was not the attack that bothered him. Or the loss of property. The destruction of the base. Or even the apparent incompetence of his warriors in that instance. No. It was the continued incompetence of his warriors. Days had passed since the incident and still not a one of them was able to produce results. Track the rebels to their hideout. Capture any of them to interrogate the information out of them. Follow any of the planes as they were leaving the base. Never mind, recover the stolen property. Raisu pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off a stress headache. 

His only comfort in all of this was that he knew, one day, he would face the rebel's strong man and that he would achieve the near-mythical from of the Legendary. 

The mad old Seer, Bardock, professed that he would face the boy again and when he did, only one of them would walk away alive, and when the battle was fought and won, it would be the birth of a new Legendary. The old Seer might as well have just come out and said 'you're the Chosen One'. Because, really, in a fight between a Saiyan and an alien strong man, who was gonna become the Super Saiyan? But then, Raisu supposed, oracles and prophets had to make everything sound complicated and mysterious. 

But while his future looked promising, Raisu's present was not so pleasing. Queen Soy would demand an update on his progress here and he did not want to tell her that he failed to kill or capture the strong man, allowed the rebels to destroy a base, and lost monarchy property. All and all, he was not doing any better a job than the commander stationed here before him. Earth was a troublesome planet. How could he turn the situation…?

Raisu tapped his scouter. "Tora, progress report on the search for the rebels."

There was a long pause after that question. Then the warrior's voice over the channel crackled back, "Nothing to report, sir. No leads as to the location of the rebel base."

Suppressing a growl, Raisu drummed his fingers on the table. This was getting him nowhere. He had to change tactics. "Call off the search and return to the Look Out. I have a different plan in mind to flush out the insurgents."

Startled at the sudden change, Mr. Popo glanced up in alarm at the Saiyan commander. He had a bad feeling about this and a small stone of dread sank into the pit of his stomach. 

…

Tora didn't know what his new commander was thinking, but he did not like the sound in the man's voice. 

After his squad was broken up and each of them assigned to different units, Tora rarely saw his old squad mates or his old commander again. He thought of the last time he saw Bardock, that fateful night on Vegeta-sei when he helped Bardock, Borgos, and Fasha break Kakarot's hansaiya offspring out of prison. 

Kakarot was the distraction. While the rest of the world was watching his execution in the square, Bardock and the Namekian from Earth would sneak out with the boy and his mother. They were all committing high treason that night, but for some reason, after seeing Bardock's son acting so calm and unconcerned as he walked to his own execution, Tora forgot the danger. He was the one who replaced the real guard placed on the defector's cell. Tora remembered how collected he was when the hansaiya brat began to cry, just placing a hand on the boy's head and assuring him it would all be okay. It was a common and empty assurance Tora heard many times over the years on purge missions. Parents telling their children not to worry, it would be okay… before they were purged along with the rest of their race. Tora thought he'd learned to ignore such things.

But for some reason, hearing it from Kakarot, with his calm demeanor and tenor voice, his lowered eyebrows and serious face, head held high… Tora believed him. Everything would be okay. 

He escorted Kakarot to the dais in the center of the square and helped the executioner secure his arms. Then Tora stood back and waited and listened for the inevitable alarm to be raised when someone finally noticed the woman and the boy were gone. 

'I am Son Goku! I am an Earthling!'

'Everything'll be okay.'

The problem was, everything was not okay. The last time Tora saw Bardock was not that fateful night, but rather a little over a year after. Bardock just appeared one day, in the middle of a purge with his new squad. Hovering in the air, smoke from the destroyed city of the natives billowing into the clouds, Bardock asked one more favor of Tora. 

Request a transfer to Earth and wait. 

At the time Tora didn't understand. But by that time, that was nothing new. No one in his squad seemed to understand Bardock or the things he did or didn't do ever since they returned from that Kanassa mission. It was like their boss was a different man. Raving about the end of the world and demanding the King listen to him, begging Raditz not to go to Earth to follow-up on Kakarot's infant mission, pleading with the King to leave Earth be and not import slaves from that world. None of these ravings were listened to, of course. The King stopped listening to Bardock the Mad Old Seer when he sent his younger son away. Bardock remained present in court for a short time after that, but the King stopped listening to him, and eventually Bardock stopped trying to make him listen. 

He was hysterical when Raditz left, Bardock knowing his eldest son would to return from that follow-up mission. But after Kakarot's death he was different. Quiet. Composed. Like a completely different man. He asked Tora to transfer to the post on Earth and wait. To wait for what, Tora wasn't exactly sure. But he wasn't stupid either. Bardock didn't tell him what he was waiting for, all he said was 'you'll know him when you see him. He's got my eyes'. Then his vanished in an instant. Tora was pretty sure that Bardock meant his grandson, the hansaiya boy. After all, who else in the galaxy would have his eyes? (Except maybe Turles. But Tora didn't think he and Bardock were on speaking terms.)

So, Tora transferred to Earth and had been there ever since. 

It wasn't such a bad gig either. His actual posting was not in the Look Out, but rather just below the Look Out in the place the natives called 'Korin's Tower'. It had a nice view of what was once a very lovely forest stretching for miles. The food on Earth was pretty good too, and the girls were pretty. That was probably the only actual problem with this posting. The girls. They were pretty. And cute. And spunky. And if you got them riled, they would forget they were an oppressed people for a couple moments and really give you a piece of their mind. Tora liked that in a woman. Backbone and sass. But they weren't Saiyan women. They were Earthlings. That was the problem. 

That was Tora's problem. 

Her name was Mako and she was brilliant. Taller than most females of her species, her head came up to Tora's chin. Hair usually pulled back in a high ponytail, green eyes sharp and piercing. A pair of pink rose earrings her only keepsake from a time before his people's occupation of her world. They first met when she used to cook for his unit. His position on Korin's Tower was not always his assignment. When he first arrived on Earth, he was foisted onto guard duty in West City. That was where he met Mako. 

She was a slave, made to cook and prepare meals for the occupying soldiers. But her hobbies also included sewing and so she ended up mending a few of their jumpsuits and non-armor pieces of their uniforms. It was during one of these that he had his first real conversation with her. The under suit of his armor was torn in a bar fight with one of the new squad mates and it needed to be mended before an inspection the following day. He promised her he'd make it worth her while if she fixed it for him. Smuggle her extra rations, or maybe higher quality fabric for her garments. He paced the room in his undergarments while she sewed steadily, seemingly unconcerned by the large, impatient, half-naked alien in the room. Tora was impressed by her steady hand and calm demeanor. 

Things just went from there. 

He made good on his promise of more rations and started coming to her for more and more things. Offering in trade, softer pillows for her bunk, chocolates -Earthling females loved chocolate- better blankets, higher quality fabrics, exotic spices for her cooking, etc. As Tora climbed in rank within the Earth Division, his gifts got better as well, offering her more free time to herself, or higher positions within the human staff, until finally, he was able to request she become his personal maid. 

That was where the trouble started. 

Tora wasn't quite sure who initiated it the first time. He was sure the words 'you're not like the other Saiyans' was involved. To which he most likely replied, 'you're not like the other Earthlings'. Then there was a kiss and he couldn't remember who started it. The next thing he was aware of clothing was flying and skin was rubbing against skin. They had been lovers ever since. But the thing about lovers is, sooner or later, two lovers create one love-child. Mako was pregnant. 

Tora was more than well aware of the monarchy's position on inter-breeding with other races. Mako and his child would defiantly be kill, he would be arrested and possibly executed as well. That was why he requested to be placed on the division exclusively devoted to searching for the rebels. Not to destroy them, as Raisu no doubt wanted, but to plead with them to take Mako under their protect. Hell! He might even defect to their side! If his choices were be a traitor but be with Mako, or continue to climb the ranks but louse his woman and his child, Tora was seriously considering the former. 

He suppressed these thoughts, however, as he flew up towards the Look Out. Putting his best stone-face on, Tora knelt before his commander, one fist to the ground, one fist over his heart. He didn't know what his commander was planning, but he hadn't liked the sound in the man's voice over the scouter. 

Raisu paced back and forth in front of Tora. "I've decided to change tactics." He said. "Tracking the rebels to their hideout won't work. They know this land better than we do and have covered their tracks to well. The hunt is a wast of time and resources." 

"Sir, what do you propose we do instead, sir?" Tora asked, not sure he was going to like the alternative. 

"Instead, we're going to make the Earthlings give up their own heroes." Raisu said. 

Tora hesitated. "Sir, permission to speak freely, sir?" Then without waiting for the actual permission to be given. "The Earthlings have to loyalty to us, nor share any sympathy for us. They will not give up the location of the rebel base to us, sir."

Here Raisu smiled a wicked smile. "No. They won't. Not freely. They's why we have to coax them. Reorganize your men. Instead of searching for the rebels, have them round up a couple humans. Then, get the word out that I'm offering an ultimatum to the rebel leaders. For every day they do not turn themselves in, I will kill one hundred Earthlings."


	21. The Revolutionary Guard

Fasha sat in the hangar of her family's estate. She might be a Third Class soldier, but her family was Second Class and very well off, her mother having made a fortune on her campaigns during her youth. Her mother was none to thrilled when Fasha was born and her power level tested just below the minimum required for the Second Class. So from the moment of her birth, Fasha was a disappointment to her parent. Then when her squad leader went mad and the team broke up, she was given the opportunity to retest and maybe climb up to a higher Class, but she refused. This angered her mother to no end. But the thing that was the proverbial cherry on the disappointment cake was her choice in lover and the father of her illegitimate child. 

Fasha came from an honorable family. Yet, she committed the most dishonorable act possible. That of conceiving and carrying to term a hansaiya child. 

Wess was what the Earthlings called a 'grease-monkey'. A slang term for a mechanic. He worked on her family's vehicles. She first met him in the hangar, visiting her parents between missions. He was bent over the engine of a freight hauler. Another slave, a female maid, was attempting to banter with him, but the mechanic was ignoring her -to intent on his work. Fasha was tired from her mission and just wanted a cold shower and a hot bath. At first she walked right past him after securing her pod in its hangar cradle. Then she overheard a snippet of the one-sided conversation between him and the maid. 

"You grease-monkey's! All you care about is engines and oil."

At first Fasha thought the little slave-girl was talking to her. After all, 'monkey' was a common racial slur for a Saiyan. She wheeled around to clock the girl for her insolence, but found that her attention was focused on the mechanic, not Fasha. She paused for a moment to observe. 

The mechanic's head snapped up, almost hitting the raised hood of the machine he was working on. His eyes wide and worried. "Don't use that word here!" He snapped at the maid. "Our masters won't know what it means and will take offense."

It was he who then turned to Fasha first, forcing the maid to notice that they were not alone in the hangar. That one of their Saiyan masters was there and heard what she said. The girl when white as a sheet. Fasha had to smirk at that. 

"She didn't mean anything by it, m'Lady." The mechanic assured her. "Its just a thing we say back on Earth. Like a nickname. Something people call people like me. Who work on machines. It wasn't an insult against you. I swear."

Fasha had to admit she was curious. "What's your name, slave?"

"My name? Well, I… I'm Wess, m'Lady." He stuttered, suddenly nervous. Of course, it wasn't very often that a Saiyan took enough interest in a slave to learn their name. He was probably terrified by the unfamiliarity of the situation. 

Fasha smiled. "Well, Wess, I'm tired and need to freshen up. When I'm done, I'd like you to tell me more about 'grease-monkeys' on Earth."

"Uh, as m'Lady wishes." He bowed. 

Things just sort of evolved from there…

They kept their relationship a secret -for obvious reasons. But after her son came out with bright green hair, it was hard to deny anymore. Fasha's mother was furious. She didn't ask for the identity of the human lover, she just ordered Fasha to kill every slave in the house with green hair, or else be disowned, denounced, and executed and her mother would kill them all and the unclean offspring herself. Wess knew he wasn't going to survive no matter what Fasha chose, so he told her to do it. Kill him. At least that way she wouldn't be disowned by her family or punished by her own people. 

Fasha was a Saiyan warrior and so never cried. But she sobbed as she broke her lover's neck. Her mother watched and smiled when his limp body fell lifeless from her hands. Her mother was merciful enough not to make Fasha kill her own child. For what little comfort that was worth -which was none. But the Temple of Fire would not allow it to be given the proper rights within the temple property. So Fasha had to go elsewhere to give her child a proper Saiyan funeral. On the same day that Wess' father buried him in the slaves' cemetery, Fasha held a pyre on the edges of the slaves' camp. 

That was how she met the hansaiya Prince. 

Was it a chance meeting that day? Or was it fate? On the day she gave her child the Final Dispatch she would cross paths with another hansaiya child, one that could make it so that she or any other mother would never have to feel her pain again. Right on the edge of the pyre. Fasha was not usually one to believe in such nonsense. Destiny and fate. Kizmet and serendipity. Not even after Bardock went mad and began his crazy ravings -ravings that often became true- she still had her doubts. 

But for the first time, she was beginning to believe. Bardock said that a hansaiya would either sit upon the Cairngrom Throne or else break it. Now Fasha met a hansaiya boy with the blood of royalty. A hansaiya that might have a claim to the throne. Perhaps ten years ago this would not have been anything of any greater significance than a scandal. Another high-profile hansaiya case for soldiers to gossip about over drinks and fires. But that was ten years ago. The number of warriors with non-Saiyan lovers had increased since then and was still increasing every day. More hansaiya were being conceived, aborted or birthed then killed. 

Now the climate was perfect for a hansaiya to lay a claim to the throne. Now he would have the support he needed to make a play for the crown. 

Borgos agreed with her. He told her he would make a detour to Gyu, the Archduke's home planet, while he was off on his current purge mission. Fasha was sure that was where the boy would be. It was the Archduke who came to the children's aid when she was ready to attack them. The Archduke was either the boy's father or else his caretaker. And if he was not the father but the caretaker, then that would make the boy the son of the current King. That was the only other Vegeta that could have sired the boy. The late King Vegeta would never have done such a thing. Fasha was sure he was either the son of the Archduke or the current King. 

Ultimately, who the father was didn't matter. The important thing was that he was a hansaiya and he had royal blood. That was all that mattered. His royal blood gave him the claim to the throne he would need to stage a coup and his status as a hansaiya made him just the candidate Fasha and many others would want. 

While Borgos was off-world verifying the validity of her claim of seeing a royal bastard, she could be bust setting the groundwork here in Salaad. 

Fasha sat in her pod in its hangar cradle. Outside the rest of her mother's slaves went about the daily maintenance of of the hangar and vehicles. Ever since Wess, her mother only ever purchased female slaves. All those with green hair like Wess' were killed and all other male slaves were sold. The staff gave her a large amount of space. Even those who were not on staff when her scandal occurred knew of it and were afraid to go near her for fear of her mother's wrath. One would think she had a contagious disease instead of just being the mother of a half-breed bastard. 

But she pushed that out of her mind. She was not sitting in her cramped pod just for the heck of it. She was searching the nets for hints of others such as herself. Other warriors who had either non-Saiyan lovers or hansaiya offspring who might be sympathetic to her cause. Such things were not spoken about in public, but there were always small dens on the nets where such people like herself could be found. Little pockets where they gathered to message and chat. Commiserate on their circumstances. It was one of these sites that Fasha was searching for. Because if she could get the word out that there was an alternative. That there was an heir to the throne out there that was hansaiya. Perhaps they could all meet in person and rally around their half-blood Prince. 

…

"Two… G, uh, M? Two GM over… over… um…" Trunks screwed up his featured and scratched his head trying to remember the equation his mother taught him. Leaving home and seeing other planets was a great adventure. Vegeta-sei and Gyu were both so different from Namek! But now that the adventure of travel was over and they settled into life on Gyu, Mama insisted they resume his lessons. Goten's too. Though, Goten was not quite as advanced as Trunks was at this point. He was still trying to master basic arithmetic while Trunks moved on to… what did Mama call this? Practical Geometry? Or Applied Physics? Or was 'applied physics' hitting things to make them work and this was something else. Truth be told, Trunks was taught so many maths over the course of his sort life that he forgot which ones were called what. 

"R" Mama prompted. She sat rather comfortably, reclining in a chair placed between the two boy's desks. 

"Right!" Trunks nodded. "2GM over r!"

On her other side Goten looked up in great alarm. "Wha! You're making him do the math with the spelling in it! You're not gonna make me do the math with the spelling in it too, are you!?"

Bulma only smiled and patted the younger boy on the head. "Not anytime soon, Goten-chan." She assured him. "Lets see if you can sold this basic subtraction first. If you have six apples and someone takes away half of them, what will they have?"

"A broken arm." The boy answered. 

"What? No." Bulma shook her head. 

"They will if they try and take Chibi's apples." Trunks laughed, greatly amused by his friend's answer. 

Mama turned a stern glance towards her son, a silent command to be silent and get back to his own lesson. "And how are you coming along in your work, Trunks? You've got the equation. Do you remember what it means?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Trunks turned his eyes back to his own paper, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. He knew this, or rather he should know the answer to this. He and Mama had gone over the lesson before leaving home. But Namek seemed so far away and long ago now. He barely remembered what the lesson was. Something about space ships and gravity and if you calculated wrong you could fall back down to the planet. Ah! That was it, because of the planet's gravity! "G is the gravitational constant, Mama."

"Okay." She nodded, offering an encouraging smile. "And the rest?"

"Well, uh… M is the mass -M for Mass. I remember that and r is, uh, something important…" He once again scratched his head, this time chewing on his bottom lip while he tried to call up the correct answer from the recess of his more than considerable intellect. Sadly, the answer did not seem to want to present itself and so Trunks was more than pleased when his uncle interrupted the lesson. Knocking gently on the doorframe to announce his appearance.

"Sorry to interrupt." He said. "But I was curious aha you were teaching them."

"Basic math for this one." Bulma smiled and patted Goten on the head. Then turned her attention back to Trunks. "And this little devil is learning mathematical applications. Today we're picking back up with the escape velocity equation." 

Uncle Tarble nodded as if in approval. "Those are important things for any space-fairing person to know, and to learn it so young is quite impressive!"

"My son is very smart." Bulma replied, sounding just on the boarders of confrontational. She didn't shout or yell at him anymore, not since they settled in, but Trunks knew that his Mama still didn't fully trust Uncle Tarble. This was evident by the fact that she still did not share water with him -or anyone in the house for that matter. 

"I can see that." Tarble smiled back, choosing to ignore the confrontational tone and not take the bate to argue. "Have you given any thought to teaching him other things? The history of his father-race, perhaps? Or the basics of Saiyan culture?"

"No." Mama said as if this should have been obvious. "I don't see why he should need that."

Trunks kept his face down, pointed towards his desk, but his eyes traveled up to study his Mama and his Uncle. They were doing something that he had begun to notice they did from time to time. Where they would have one conversation that was seemingly mundane, but under neither it, without using actual words, would be talking about something else entirely. The question was, what were they really talking about besides his lessons?

"They would become useful in dealing with other members of the Saiyan race." Tarble replied. 

Mama was silent for a moment longer than was usual for her. Perhaps considering Uncle Tarble's words. "I do not intend for him to meet any more Saiyans besides you, Tarble."

"Forgive me, Neesan, but what you intend and what might actually happen are two very different things. Wouldn't it be better if he were prepared for all possible occurrences, not just the ones you want to occur?"

Mama stood from her seat. She did not look at either of the hansaiya children as she said, "Finish your worksheets boys. I'll look over your papers later." To Tarble she said, "Teach them whatever you want. But don't think for a moment that means I'll let you place either of these boys in any more danger than they already are simply by being here. Trunks will not return to Vegeta-sei."

She strode out of the room. 

Tarble knelt down next to Trunks' desk. "Well, nephew, how would you like to hear about the King With the Broken Sword?"

…

The meeting place was going to be the Stinking Load again. Fasha met up with Toteppo outside almost an hour before the meeting time. They stood around outside for a few minutes -feeling awkward. Fasha was more friends with Borgos than she was Toteppo. As such, she never really socialized with the younger man. Certianly never without Borgos actually there. Neither really knew how to talk to the other without him there. He was the only thing they had in common. 

That and mating with non-Saiyans. But they weren't going to talk about that. 

"So…" He began.

"How's Borgos?" Fasha asked. 

"Not bad, not bad." Toteppo supplied. "He sent me a wave not to long ago. Said he and his squad are on their way home from the mission. I told him to join us if he gets in before the meeting is over."

"Oh." She blinked in pleasant surprise. "He'll be back that soon? Good. That's good."

They lapsed into another silence. Crossing their arms over their chests and shuffling their feet. 

"Well…" Toteppo began again. "We're a bit early, but we might as well go in and get a drink. I'll buy you something stiff."

Fasha smiled. She liked that idea. A drink would take some of the awkwardness out of this meeting. "But not too stiff. We need to keep our heads, remember. I called this meeting to discuss serious matters. Some might even call it… treason." That last word was said in a whisper. 

"Right. Right." He agreed soberly."

Fasha lead him inside and kicked a couple of green recruits fresh outta bootcamp out of her booth. She sat down while Toteppo detoured to the bar to order their drinks. They sat in yet more awkward silence while they waited for the (alleged) kindreds Fasha found over the nets. Those who diverted from the norm of what was socially accepted and took mates of other races. It was dangerous for them to come out, she knew. Even to others who claimed to be the same. Fasha and Toteppo were both putting themselves in danger simply by calling the meeting. The others would be wise not to show up. 

But at the same time, Saiyans did not back down from fear. 

A smile tugged at Fasha's lips as that thought called up a memory of Wess. A pleasant memory, before she became pregnant and their affair was discovered. He was telling her about one of Earth's great folk-heroes, a man called 'John Wayne'. He said, 'Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway'. ('Saddling', Wess also had to explain, was when one equipped an animal with a makeshift seat with the intent to ride said animal -within the context, into battle.) Fasha had never heard of this 'John Wayne' before, but she liked his philosophy. 

It was terrifying, the idea of committing high treason. Or supplanting one monarch with another. But, at the same time, it was something that had to be done. As Bardock said, 'Civilizations are built on the idea of "women and children first". Once a people forgets that, they are not far from destruction.' The monarchy, and the whole Saiyan race for that matter, was in a decline. She could see that now. They were not long from destruction. So, she was metaphorically 'saddling up' 

Toteppo ran a finger around the rim of his tankard in bordom. "So…" He said. "You're, like, really Second Class, right? You're just slummin' it down here with us 'cause we're more fun."

Fasha's first instinct at that was annoyance. She got enough crap about being from a higher cast, but at a lower level from Toma and Shugesh back when she first joined the squad out of bootcamp. But then she reminded herself, Borgos never bothered her over her Class or ranking and Toteppo was Borgos' baby brother. She leaned back in the booth. "I am and forever will be, a member of Bardock's Elite. No matter what Class I am or who's Squad I'm assigned to."

He nodded. Probably having heard something similar from his brother. Members of Bardock's Elite always called themselves such. Even after Bardock himself went mad and the team was dissolved. They were still squad mates. Still a team. Still Bardock's Elite. Few other squads were as close or as loyal. "So, like, how's that different from down here?"

"Well," Fasha thought, "not much. There's a bit more pressure from parents to climb higher. It is a little easier to cash-in on loot brought back from missions. Oh, and we have a little bit more formal education before entering bootcamp."

Toteppo raised an eyebrow.

So, she elaborated. "Like history and stuff. Things you don't really need to know to take-over a planet, but might be helpful if you actually hold a position higher than Squad Leader. For example…" She cast her brain around for any memory she actually retained from her history lessons and lettered on the only one that seemed relevant to their current situation. "Do you know why interbreeding with other races has always been taboo?"

He blinked at her over his tankard. "But, wait, I thought the ban on interracial mating was only implemented within the last two or thee decades."

"The official law has, yes." She nodded. "But mating with other races has always been taboo. Ever since we gained independence from the Tuffles. Back when the revolution was still fresh, there were warriors who took Tuffle women as trophies. The children that were the products of those couplings resented their Saiyan parents and fought back against the monarchy. They were eventually put down, of course. But the parents of the instigators were stuck with the blame. Because of that, its always been scornful to take a non-Saiyan mate."

"Huh." He thought about that for a moment. 

"That's also why all hansaiya and their parents are killed." Two newcomers appeared at the side of their table. A woman of middle age and average hight, the other younger, not even in his teens, not yet ready for bootcamp. Both wore cloaks of a dark color, hoods pulled over their faces. But the fabric was of good quality, the garments of fine craftsmanship. They were either from a wealthy House or else a higher Class. Looking at Fasha, the woman continued, "Are you 'Wesstern'?"

Fasha nodded. "I am."

The woman did not lower her hood all the way, but she did pull it away just enough for Fasha to meet her eyes. "I am 'Petit Oiseau'." -A name obviously as fake as Fasha's alias. She sat down across from Fasha. "And this is my son."

The say she said that piqued Toteppo's curiosity. He turned a more appraising gaze a the boy. Not yet in his teens. He would place the boy around the age of ten, maybe eleven. Close to the age of conscript, but still just a hair's breadth to young to actually be drafted. He kept his hood down, covering his face, but the cloak was of high quality and the armor he wore beneath it was of equally good quality and well kept. That indicated they were of a higher class than Toteppo. Second Class or higher. 

"I'm glad you came." Fasha reached a hand over the table and took Petit Oiseau's hand. "Both of you." She nodded to the boy. Then, indicating Toteppo, Fasha continued. "This is my friend. He's like us."

"I see." Oiseau nodded to him. Then she turned her attention back to Fasha. Voice low. Almost a whisper. "Is what you said over the waves the true? Is there really a hansaiya-Vegeta?"

"There is." Fasha nodded. "Ive seen him. He has the tsurime eyes of House Vegeta but his coloring is not Saiyan. And… he is in the company of Archduke Tarble -the King's brother."

Oiseau crosses her arms over her chest in thought. "That's a very close link to the throne."

Before the conversation could continue, another warrior arrived. A male this time. Looking awkward. He scanned the tables and booths before his eyes settled on Petit Oiseau and her son. Probably because they were the only ones in the whole bare wearing cloaks and hoods. He approached the table, attention focussed on Oiseau, and asked, "Wesstern?"

Oiseau shoot her head. "No."

The man suddenly looked like he was about to panic before Fasha said, "I'm Wesstern. This is Petit Oiseau, her son, and…"

Fasha paused. She and Toteppo never discussed an alias for him before the meeting began. She didn't know how to introduce him. Toteppo, also realizing this blurted out the first non-Saiyan name (that was not his late lover's name) he could think of. "Rumpelstiltskin." 

The warrior relaxed. "I'm Red Lantern."

He sat down next to Fasha.

Slowly, others trickled in. All looking awkward and suspicious. Scrutinizing the other bar patrons before hesitantly sitting down at Fasha's booth. All using aliases to protect their real identities should any of them decide to double-cross the group and turn them all in. The authorities wouldn't know where to look for someone named 'Red Lantern', or 'Mr. Freeze'. Fasha had to smile at all the diverse names they came up with. Petit Oiseau, Red Lantern, Mr. Freeze, Impulse, Starfire and her daughter Nightstar, Chicago, Goliath, Macbeth, and Cyrano -to name a few. Once everyone who was coming arrived, Fasha returned to business. 

"I'm glad you all could come." She said. "Most of you all know each other through the boards already, so I won't waste time on introductions. 'Benedict' regrets that he can't join us tonight, he owns a business here in town and can't get away. Aside from him and one other friend who's currently on a purge mission, everyone is here."

Those gathered around the small table looked at each other, silently counting their number and calculating their odds. It was far more people than any one of them expected, but still not enough to actually fight a revolution. 

"We are all here because we have one thing in common." Fasha continued. "Regardless to Class, power level, or wealth, this one thing unites us and makes us the same. But the law says that this thing is unclean, taboo, an abomination and therefore illegal. But that can change! If we can force a change of King, then the law will change. The law will have to change with the person I have in mind as King. Friends, let me tell you what I know about the Hansaiya Prince."

And so she once again explained about her encounter with the two hansaiya boys and explained how one of them had the tsurime eyes of House Vegeta and that the Archduke came to collect them. After a pause, she added the detail of the Archduke dropping that cryptic hint that a hansaiya might sit on the Cairngrom Throne one day. That implied that he was also a supporter of a hansaiya succeeding the current King. 

They had all the pieces to put together a proper revolutionary movement. They just needed to get together and get organized. 

…

The meeting adjourned and the conspirators all went their separate ways. Nobody committed to anything, but neither did they refuse their participation. Ideas were exchanged, but no promises were made. It was the first meeting and as such, was all talk. But everyone left with a great deal to think about. They took what they heard and brought it home to their mates and their offspring -many of which were (officially speaking) nothing more than slaves in their own households. 

Those partners and children then took what was said and shared it with other slaves they considered friends. Those friends in turn told their friends or other slaves within their own households. 

By the end of the week the whole of the subjugated population of Salaad knew of the Hansaiya Prince. 

By the end of the month, their Saiyan masters began to hear the rumors…

…

"… and so, because he united all the warring tribes, a broken sword became a symbol of power instead of an omen of weakness." Tarble concluded the story. 

It wasn't so much a history lesson as it was 'story time'. The King With the Broken Sword was really more of a folk-tale than it was an actual historically accurate account. There was a time in Saiyan history where they were scattered and decided into different tribes. Those tribes constantly warred with one another. But as much as they hated each other, they hated the Tuffles more. The King With the Broken Sword was a legendary hero -not the Legendary, just a legendary warrior- who united the feuding tribes and lead them to winning their freedom from the Tuffles. 

Those where the confirmed historical facts. All other details of the story, such as the mad soothsayer, the love-affair with a lower-Class female, and the supposed 'magical' properties of his sword (to spite the blade being broken) was all nothing more than romantic embellishment. 

"So, what helped next?" Trunks and Goten prompted. Eyes wide. Faces pleading for more.

"Next?" Tarble echoed. "Well, that's the end of the story. The Tuffles were defeated and the Saiyans were free."

"But I want more…" Goten whined. 

Trunks, on the other hand, looked thoughtful. "But wait." He said. "What about the unresolved subplots? What happened to the Tuffles that weren't soldiers? Did the Saiyans kill them too?" 

"Well, not at first…" Tarble answered awkwardly. "Some of King Broken-Sword's warriors took Tuffles as mates."

Goten pirked up at that. "And they all lived happily ever after?"

"Uh, no… They created the first hansaiya. The first half-Saiyans." Tarble was forced to explain. 

Recognition flashed behind Trunks' sky-blue eyes and he scowled in deeper thought. Goten on the other hand looked thoughtful but confused. He still did not fully understand the full significance of that statement. Then Trunks finished whatever train of thought he was running and asked, "Did they make trouble? The Tuffle-hansaiya?"

"Yes." Tarble confirmed. Glad that the boy was so smart and he didn't need to delve into to much detail of those decades following the Saiyan unification and independence.

"That's why they hate us now." He continued. "They think we're the same as those others from way, way back."

Tarble nodded. "Unfortunately, that's probably very true." 

"Well, they're wrong!" Trunks said in a similar way to how any other child might have said, 'that's stupid!'

At that, Tarble smiled. "Well then, how would you like the opportunity to prove them wrong? Who knows, Trunks? You might just change the world…"

…

A month after that conversation, Tarble received a message from Borgos informing him of the rising support for change in the capital.


	22. The Fortuitous Alliance

They were all lined up shoulder to shoulder. Out on display in front of what once was the main Capsule Corp complex in West City. One hundred men and women, random Earthlings selected from all over the planet.

A short stage was erected for this single and specific purpose. Raisu walked up and down the line of human sacrificial lambs, but he was not looking at them, no. He was studying the crowed that gathered to watch their pubic execution. Searching the faces for any indication that they might be more than just another scared and angry native made to watch the murder of their countrymen.

"I'm giving you the same opportunity I gave you yesterday!" He announced. "And the day before that! Give up the location of the rebel's hideout or turn in the rebel leaders and your people will be spared! If not… well…" He looked back at the line-up of one hundred men and women, all looking terrified yet firm -resolute. Not so much resigned to their fate but rather meeting it with the kind of sober resolve one has when they know they are doing the right thing but not happy about it.

Raisu waited. Scanned the crowd.

"Don't tell them a thing!" One person shouted from the line of one hundred.

A second person shouted a similar sentiment. Then a third. Soon the whole line was screaming at the crowd to stay strong. Don't worry. Don't say a thing. They'll be fine. After all, they've got the easy part. In another minute they'll be dead and won't care anymore. Its everyone else who has to live on and cope with the Saiyan occupation. Don't throw away the people fighting to liberate them for the lives of a few random strangers who, very soon now, won't be bothered by it anymore.

"Silence!" Raisu shouted. "Shut-up! All of you shut-up! Tora! Get these worms under control!"

The line quieted down as soon as Tora and two other warriors stepped onto the stage. They remained quiet for all of five seconds before some began singing instead. "Hikaru kumo wo tsukinuke FURAI AWEI."

The gathered Saiyans looked confused for a moment. Then a second person in the line echoed "Furai awei!"

Several others took up the second verse. "Karadajuu ni hirogaru PANORAMA, kao wo Kerareta Chikyuu ga okotte."

Raisu became horror struck when the crowd of Earthlings that was gathered to witness then echoed the lyric, "Okotte!"

Then the whole crowd, the one hundred executionees and gathering of witnesses, together, skipped a verse and dove strait into the chorus. "Cha-La Head-Cha-La! Nani ga okite mo kibun wa henoheno KAPPA. Cha-La Head-Cha-La!"

Fearing a riot now, Riasu ordered his men to kill them. Hurry up and kill them! Before the crowd began to riot.

With a heavy and sober expression, Tora raised his arm and fired at the executionee closest to him. Then the one next to them. Then the next one. His squad doing the same. After a few minutes, the line of one hundred men and women of Earth was just a pile of meat, burned and charred by ki, and the crowd was silent. Three days. Three days Raisu had been doing this and so far they were no closer to catching the rebel leaders or learning the location of their base then they were a week ago. All they received was further rage from the locals, and piles of bodies.

He looked across the crowd and through the throng of terrified but angry Earthlings he saw his woman. Tora told Mako not to come out and watch these things. He didn't want to run the risk of the crowd actually rioting and she -or the baby- getting hurt. But as he was quickly learning with these Earthlings, they had minds of their own and no command from a Saiyan was going to change that. She had a mind of her own and no command from him was going to change that. It was one of the things that first drew him to her. But it was also one of the things that gave him horrible nightmares. Fearing that her headstrong independence and disregard for authority or personal safety would eventually get her killed.

That, and he just didn't want his mate to see him like this. He didn't want her to watch him kill her people. For no other reason than he was just following orders.

Tora did not cross the street to speak with her. It would not have looked right to Raisu if he did. Stopping to just speak with a pregnant human female. It would have raised questions that neither of them wanted to be asked. She knew this as well as he did. But Tora did make a mental note to speak with her the moment he returned home.

But had his attention not been so focused on Mako, Tora would have seen something that Raisu already missed.

Towards the back of the crowd, wearing a red and white baseball cap to cover his blond hair, a single human male darted between people and buildings on his way out of the city.

…

"They killed another hundred people today." Sharpner snarled the moment he stepped inside the Dragon Rock cave system and saw Gohan sitting in the common area, casual and unconcerned.

Videl and Dende looked up, startled at his outburst. Everyone knew about the Saiyan's ultimatum. It was something that weighed heavily on everyone's mind. For the past three days, it was all anyone ever thought about. But at the same time, they knew that if any of them turned themselves in, or turned in their compatriots that it wouldn't solve anything. They would be dead and the Earth would still be under Saiyan control.

Sarpner grabbed Gohan by the collar of his orange and blue dogi and dragged him to his feet. "What I want to know is what you're planning to do about it, hero! That's what you came here for, isn't it? To be our hero. To save the day just like everyone says dead dad used to!"

"Hey, calm down." Videl stood from the table, placing a hand on Sharpner's shoulder. "We were just discussing the ultimatum. Trust me, Gohan wants to do something. But he's not ready to fight the boss just yet and Lunch, Roshi, and Korin aren't gonna turn themselves in. We all want to do something, we just don't know what to do."

Gohan took the opportunity to gently pull his dogi free from Sharpner's tight but weak human grip. He took half a step back from the other man, not wanting to accidentally hurt him if Sharpner decided it was a good idea to punch a half-Saiyan and Gohan had to defend himself. Dende also stood and came around the table to stand next to Gohan.

"And while we're all sitting around with our thumbs up our asses wondering what to do, what is the rest of the world supposed to do!?" Sharpner snarled, this time turning his ire towards Videl.

His initial outburst had drawn attention when Sharpner first entered, now the continued confrontation was drawing a crowd. Others in the common area were leaving what they were doing and drifting over to watch the argument that was unfolding within Gohan's group. A circle of onlookers surrounded them now, the added energy escalating the tensions.

"If I had half the power you're supposed to have, the Saiyans wouldn't even be here anymore!" Sharpner continued. "Some great 'savior' you're turning out to be. All you do is sit here and hydrate with Videl and your little green friend and cry about living up to your dad's example. Well, let me tell you! If you really serious about living up to the Goku everyone is always talking about, you wouldn't be sitting here waiting for permission like a lapdog. You would go out there and do what needed to be done and get it over with!"

Sharpner's words hit deep because they were true. Gohan knew they were true. Sharpner had never met his dad, but the man knew him just as well as Gohan did through the stories he'd heard from Lunch and Yamcha and the others. But before the hansaiya could reply, they were interrupted.

"Move aside, move aside!" Pilaf's voice was heard from somewhere in the crowd, from somewhere around the general area of people's knees. "Make a hole! Let me through." Slowly, the crowd of spectators that gathered around them parted enough to let the diminutive Emperor through. Pilaf glared reproachfully up at the two younger men. "What the hell do you think you're doing at a time like this!?" He snapped. "Fighting amongst ourselves. Don't you see, that's exactly what the Saiyans want! If we turn against each other then they win. You-" he jabbed a finger at Sharpner "-we're figuring something out. We know we have to stop to daily slaughter, but you have to understand that we can't give ourselves up to do it. You-" now he pointed at Gohan "-follow me!"

With a theatric twirl, Pilaf turned around and stopped out of the common area. Not knowing what else to do, Gohan did as he was told and followed the diminutive monarch out, leaving Videl and Dende to sooth the still seething Sharpner.

Once out of the common area and away from the prying eyes and ears of the crowd, Pilaf turned and glared at Gohan. "Don't think I'm on your side, kid." He snarled. "I lost one of my most loyal followers in this war. Don't make his death be in vein. Get your act together and do what Goku would have done. He would have kicked those damn monkeys off our planet ages ago! We should be rebuilding by now. Not still hiding in caves. So get your head out of your ass and man-up."

With a second theatric twirl, Pilaf turned around and left.

…

'You must find your own way.' That's what Bardock said to him.

Gohan sat outside. Staring up at the stars. Dragon rock sported some spectacular views of the night sky. The hansaiya looked up at them, but wasn't really seeing them. His attention was focussed inward. At himself.

He know what everyone wanted him to do. What everyone expected him to do. Beat up the Saiyans. Kill them if you have to. Just send them packing and get our planet back for us! But Bardock advised him to find his own way. If you don't want to kill, then don't. Find another way to free the Earth and when you're ready I'll take you somewhere else. To Vegeta-sei. Oh boy. Yeah, that was coming. Just another thing to look forward to. It made Gohan wonder what was the point of it all. If he was going to win the battle here only to be shuffled off to another war for another planet.

Not for the first time, he thought about his quiet life back on Namek.

But as he told Dende, they couldn't go home now. He couldn't go home now. He was to deeply invested in these people and this war. He had water brothers here. Kuririn and Yamcha whom shared water with him on Namek and Videl whom he bonded with over their common paternal issues, sharing water over a conversation about home much they both missed but resented their fathers. Not just water brothers but friends too.

Lunch who was always so nice to him. She made him a dogi identical to his fathers, and although he didn't really like it all that much, he still appreciated the effort. Roshi, whom was his father's mentor so many years ago and had amusing stories of him to share. Korin, Baba, aw hell, even Pilaf had his moments.

They may not be his water brothers, but these people were still his people. Maybe Pilaf was right. It was time he got his head out of his ass and did something. It was why he came here in the first place.

No… No that wasn't it. He came here to protect Dende from his own stupid decision. He didn't come to save the world or be anyone else's hero. But now that he was here and his personal issues with Dende were finally resolved, that's what Gohan found that he wanted to do. He did want to be a hero. He did want to save the world. He did want to fight the Saiyans. And deep down, he wanted to take revenge for the death of his father. Gohan just didn't want to kill anyone. He wanted to do all that without spilling any blood.

That was the thing that paralyzed him. That was why he wasn't moving forward. Wasn't doing anything of any real value for the resistance. As Bardock said, he needed to find his own way.

And he needed to find it soon. Day three since Raisu's one hundred people a day execution was just ended. To date, three hundred people had died because of his inaction. Tomorrow the sun will rise and another one hundred people will be killed. Raising the toll to four hundred. Gohan couldn't let that happen. Lunch, Roshi, and Korin couldn't turn themselves in. They were the leaders of the rebellion. Without then there was no resistance. But him? He was just one man. If he turned himself in, that might be enough to stem the slaughter.

And in a sudden glittering moment, like the strike of lightning, Gohan finally understood why his father went so calmly and so willingly to his own execution. The idea that maybe it would satisfy the monster and his family might be spared.

'Kakarot's way was tried.' Bardock said. He needed to find his own way. But people were dying and there just wan't time for him to sit and meditate, to think of a way that would save everyone without harming anyone. He had to make a decision.

So, Gohan made a decision.

Keeping low to the ground to avoid scouter detection until he got to his destination, Gohan flew to Koin's Tower. He could climb the tower halfway up to Kami's Look Out. He would have to fly the final stretch of the way, of course. But by that point he would be to close to be intercepted and stopped. He would go to the Look Out and turn himself in. Like his father before him.

…

Tora's official position was Captain of the Guard stationed in Korin's Tower. However, he did not live in the Tower. There was only enough space up there for two men to stay at a time. So, Tora and his squad worked on a rotation. This evening he was off rotation and could spend the night in his usual lodging. He came home to a sukiyaki pot set up on the table and a grim-faced Mako setting out two bowls of rice. He paused in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest, and schooled his features into an expression of annoyance.

"I don't ever want to see you at one of those executions again." He announced in what he hoped was a strong and authoritative voice.

Mako looked up at him with a sardonic smile playing over her glowing cheeks. "Then don't look for me."

But Tora was not in a mood for games. "Mako, this is serious!" He snarled. "Its dangerous! They almost rioted today! What would have happened if they did? You might have gotten trampled by your own kind! Or killed by one of my men! You can't keep doing this. You have to think about the baby! And-" he cut himself off abruptly. Instead of finishing whatever he was going to say, Tora crossed the room and pulled out a chair at the table.

"And what?" She prompted. Checking the sukiyaki, deciding it was ready and turning off the burner. When he didn't continue Mako finished for him, "and you don't want me seeing you like that."

Tora met her eyes across the sukiyaki pot, looked back down at his rice and said nothing. That was all the confirmation she needed. He didn't want her to seen him as a savage monster and butcher of her people. Academically, he was just doing his job, just following orders. Not personal, just business. But she didn't need to see him when he was working and he didn't wan't her to see him when he was working.

Mako set a few more condiments on the table before she was ready to sit down herself. Tora leapt back to his feet to pull her chair out for her. It was not a natural gesture for him, to help seat a woman. A Saiyan woman would take it as implying that she was weak and be insulted. But over his time spent on Earth, Tora witnessed several Earthling men do it for their women. Apparently, it was considered a 'gentlemanly' or honorable act to help a woman to her seat. Especially if she was elderly, or pregnant as Mako was.

"The point is," he continued, reclaiming his own seat, "is that you have to worry about more than just yourself right now, and I have to worry about both of you."

Tutting over her food, Mako shook her head. "I think you're being just a bit-"

But she was cut off when Tora held up a hand for silence. He turned his head towards the window. Something was off. His scouter didn't indicate anything out of the ordinary, but then again, after being stationed on Earth for so long, he learned that his scouter could often be wrong when it came to the locals. They knew techniques to trick scouters. To hide their ki. So that a sensor would continue to read 'All Clear' up until a warrior was right on top of you. The scouter was useless, Tora took it off.

"What is it?" Mako asked.

"Probably nothing." He assured her, but stood from his seat at the table and strode outside.

He strained his eyes through the evening darkness and tested the air with his tongue. There was nothing amis that he could sense, except for this feeling that something was coming. Perhaps he should give some serious thought to trying to figure out how to sense ki without a scouter. Bardock told him it was possible, but Tora never gave it any serious thought before.

Just as with the scouter, Tora didn't detect the intruder until he was right on top of him. A lone warrior in orange, flaying over his head towards the Tower.

Quick to react, Tora took to the air after him, catching up quickly as he had no concerns over using minimal energy to conceal himself.

"And where do you think you're going?" He asked. But no sooner was the question out of his mouth than his breath caught in his throat. The finer details of his features were obscured by darkness, but reflecting the moonlight, Tora could clearly see his eyes. Dark like a Saiyan's eyes, brow knit with determination, whites shining with resolve. His eyes very much reminded Tora of Bardock's eyes back when his visions were still new to him and he was convinced that only he could prevent the end of the world. This boy had Bardock's eyes. But how was that possible?

Bardock did tell him to wait for someone and when he saw him, he'd know. Could this boy be the one.

"I'm here to turn myself in." The boy announced. "I am the rebel hero. In exchange for my life, please stop killing innocent people."

Oh, he was cute. Cute and naive, just like Kakarot. Tora shook his head. Yup. This was him. The one Bardock wanted him to wait and look for. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tora said, "Don't turn yourself in, kid. You'll just be throwing your life away." And then he got a brilliant idea. "Instead, I've got a deal for you. I've got a woman. If you take her with you and get her away from the soldiers' camp -protect my woman- then I'll get you and a couple of your rebel friends into the Look Out. Give you a chance to strike at the main base."

The boy regarded him suspiciously. "Why would you betray your own people?"

Here Tora found himself suppressing an ironic laugh. "Come inside and meet the Mrs."


End file.
